


Crown Academy

by kitsunerei88



Category: Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Archery, Drama, Fencing, Gen, High School, Kendo, Martial Arts, Mixed Martial Arts, naginata
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-17 21:53:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 84,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3545105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsunerei88/pseuds/kitsunerei88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crown Academy is a modern high school, in all ways except five: fencing, archery, mixed martial arts, kendo, and naginata. A combination of high school drama and sports story and written for all you people out there that, inspired by Tamora Pierce's works, took up martial arts only to be discover that she didn't actually do any research on them before writing them. I promise team rivalries, awkward high school dances, awkward high school crushes, modern competitions and above all, accurate descriptions of all of the above-noted martial arts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A New Year, A New Team

_Crown Academy is, for good reason, traditionally considered the crown of Tortallan private education. Formally founded in 1796, the history of the school dates back much farther to the traditional knight-training of the middle ages. Unlike in our neighbouring countries, knight training throughout the middle ages was centralized through a school located at the Palace in Corus, teaching a combination of academics and the martial arts – fencing, archery and hand-to-hand combat. In 1796, with the relinquishment of the monarchy’s absolute power, the school moved it its present location close to Blue Harbour._

_  
While the monarchy’s effort to preserve itself in a diminished form proved ultimately futile, Crown Academy continues to educate the children of the country’s most powerful families. Although the martial arts program is no longer required and genuinely includes less than a third of the Academy’s students, the school continues to pride itself on its unique combination of academic and martial arts. And for good reason – in the last forty years, the Tortallan National Fencing Team has been entirely composed of Crown Academy graduates! Today, aside from the three traditional martial arts, the school also has a kendo team._

_Academically, Crown Academy accepts 120 students per year, 20 of whom are on scholarship. Although graduates nearly always have their choice of post-secondary institutes, the school has a deceptively low post-secondary rate of only 95% as many students go directly into professional athletics. Crown Academy graduates can be found at the highest echelons of the Tortallan business, medical and legal worlds._

 

-          _A Guide to Tortallan Secondary Schools, 2014 Edition_

 

*****

 

Kel sat in the hallway, her fingers grasped on her cue cards, her eyes skimming over them over and over again. She had spent most of her first week at Crown Academy in the library, looking into old yearbooks, getting her facts straight. She had managed to convince of the teachers to let her into the martial arts teams’ equipment rooms, hoping against hope that some old team equipment would still be there. She had asked the school administration, her teachers, and the team _senseis_ about the proper procedure for founding (or rather, re-founding?) a club. And, as weird as it was, student council was it. _This meeting_ was it. 

 

She had never heard of a school that let its student council handle all the funding for extracurricular activities. Then again, it must work – Crown Academy had, consistently, the best martial arts teams. Her brother Anders had placed second on the national level in fencing in his senior year, playing epee. Her brother Inness, fencing sabre, had made the Tortallan National Team. Her brother Conal, ever the rebel, did mixed martial arts instead, and was now making some serious money doing it – something about his arrogant yet charming personality combined with his skills won him a series of product endorsements.  Her sisters had chosen to stay in Corus for high school, but Kel – Kel had dreamed of Crown Academy from as early as she could remember.

 

She had never thought the naginata club might have gone defunct since Conal’s graduation, but the facts were that it had. She couldn’t argue with that, so here she was, doing something about it. Having practiced naginata in Japan for six years, she had made shodan at the last national competition and, although it was somewhat frowned upon, received the Tortallan Naginata Federation’s permission to start a club – but only if she called it a study group, and only if she continued regular practice under Nariko-sensei in Corus over the holidays.

 

She leaned over just slightly towards the door, hearing murmurs from within, and hoped she would be called soon.

 

***

 

Within the room, Alanna looked over the teams’ representatives for this year’s regular funding grudge-match. Fencing could use some extra funding this year – even though most of her senior fencers had their own equipment, many of her first and second years didn’t. She supposed she could make do with what they had, but another sabre, two new foils and a new epee would be good.

 

The mixed martial arts team had sent George, their top finalist at last year’s national intervarsity. He was tall, almost too tall for the room, but lean rather than muscular. Although his face was relaxed and carefree, his hazel eyes were sharp. Combined with his beaky nose, too large for good looks, he resembled a hawk eyeing his prey. He had clearly tanned over the holidays, but Alanna guessed that it was from working in the sun rather than relaxing on the beach. In contravention of the dress code, he had left his shirt loose over his trousers and his school tie and blazer were nowhere to be seen. Catching her stare, he winked.

 

“Like what you see?” he inquired, smirking.

 

“Hardly,” Alanna replied, rolling her eyes. Even if he was a clear foot taller than her, she had never found him intimidating. “How was your summer?”

 

“Made some money working for a landscaper.” He shrugged expansively. “How was lazing about on the beaches of France or whatever it is the daughter of Trebond Enterprises does?”

 

Alanna snorted. She couldn’t help her birth any more than George could, and she went out of her way to _avoid_ doing the very things for which he was mocking her. “I fenced, when Father wasn’t paying attention. As he rarely pays attention to anything other than the company, I fenced a _lot_.”  

 

Sitting to George’s right was Raoul, the new captain of the kendo team. Tall and muscular, with generous sloe-black eyes and curly black hair, he was almost distractingly handsome. Alanna was fairly certain that, despite the tension between the two clubs, three or four of her fencers had crushes on him – strangely, she’d never fallen in that camp. Unlike George, he didn’t seem at all pleased to be there. He wore a look of grim resignation.

 

To George’s left sat Daine, the archery team captain for the second year running. She had curled up in her wooden chair as if it were an armchair and, red-faced, was wrapping her unruly brown curls into a bun for the third time since they entered the room. She pulled a pen off the table and stabbed it through the mass on top of her head. “Hair tie broke during gym today,” she said, her blue-gray eyes catching Alanna’s gaze.  “Been a hassle ever since.” The mass bobbed on the top of her head, wispy tendrils already escaping.

 

To Alanna’s right sat Gary, the student council president, a stack of funding applications in front of him. He had wavy brown hair which was usually tousled – Alanna had never figured out if he arranged his hair like that every morning or if it was actually the look he woke up with. He paged through the funding applications, looking for something in particular. His girlfriend, student council secretary Cythera, sat to his right with a blank pad of paper in front of her and two pens at the ready.

 

Jon lounged at the head of the table. Even though he wasn’t _technically_ a member of Student Council, and he wasn’t any particular team’s captain, he informally ran the school. It didn’t have anything to do with any particular status he (didn’t) have, or any connections – although he and Gary were cousins, it was just Jon. Alanna used to suspect it had to do with his striking good looks – black hair and startling blue eyes – but she had long since come to the conclusion that it was more than that. People just followed Jon. He had good ideas and knew when to use them.  “Should we get started?” he asked.

 

“Yes,” Gary replied, clearing his throat. “We do have a preliminary matter we need to address, and I think it’s important we do it before going on to the funding discussions as it will impact the amount of funding available for everyone. We have an application here from Keladry  Mindelan, one of the first-years, wanting to restart the naginata club. She’s outside waiting.”

 

“And if she gets permission, we’d get less funding, I suppose?” Raoul asked, frowning. “I mean … I don’t have anything against naginata on principle, but … we also need some more shinai and at least a couple more sets of club bogu. We don’t have enough sets for the club as is, and I hate having to split up practice when everyone is at a level where keiko is best.”

 

“I don’t really see a problem with it,” Alanna cut in. She _liked_ Raoul, but he was clearly discomfited by his new role as team captain. He was usually very laid back.“Kendo and naginata share a lot of equipment. If your upper-years don’t take club sets home, I don’t see why she can’t share with your equipment. Most of our clubs are male-dominated – hell, our whole school is male-dominated. Restarting the naginata club would be a good indication for the public that our school isn’t just for boys, that we support gender equality.”

 

“Archery is pretty equal in terms of gender equality,” Daine commented. “But we need new targets. We shot through ours again. A few times.”

 

“Did you put another hole in the wall?” Alanna’s lips twitched. Prior to being moved to the gym last year, archery had practiced late at night in the main second floor hallway. Daine had successfully argued for using gym space last year partly because she had shot through a target as a first-year and put a hole in the wall. The hole was still there for anyone who wanted to see it.

 

Daine shot her an urchin grin. “Only if you can find it. The point is – I’m going to need new targets. And _not_ refrigerator boxes stuffed with old newspaper and styrofoam. But the carbon arrows we purchased with our funding last year have held up well, and more than half of my team have their own equipment. It will depend some on the new recruits, but I think we will have enough bows for the first years, as long as they don’t care what division they’ll shoot in. And as usual, anyone who wants to shoot freestyle will have to get their own equipment.”

 

“You know I won’t have much of an opinion, Jon,” George added. “Our team has never asked for much, and we haven’t asked for much this year. We’ll make do with what we have but you _know_ we don’t ask for much and I don’t see why we shouldn’t get what we’ve asked for in any case. As we’ve said over and over, more than sixty percent of our team are scholarship students, and reducing our funding would absolutely have a negative impact on our performance.”

 

“We should hear this Keladry out before we decide any further,” Jon decided. “We don’t even know how much she’s asking for in terms of funding – for all you know, she’ll just be asking for space. And if it’s just space, we can move around some practices and give her a couple hours somewhere.”

 

Gary nodded, and Cythera, closest to the door, stood to open it.

 

Keladry Mindelan was tall for a first year, already of a height with most of the fifth year girls. She had chestnut brown hair, cropped to her earlobes, hazel eyes with a dreamer’s cast and a delicate, pointed nose. She had chosen to wear the skirt combination of their school uniform, something Alanna herself rarely wore, showing muscular legs. She hesitated, clearly unsure of where she was supposed to go.

 

“How about using the seat at the end?” Jon said kindly, motioning towards the seat beside Cythera. “I understand you want to restart the naginata club at Crown Academy?”

 

“Yes,” Keladry squeaked, then cleared her throat. She moved to the empty seat and sat down, setting her cue cards in front of her. “Yes,” she repeated. “How do you want me to start?"

 

“We should introduce ourselves first, and then you can start however you like,” Jon replied, flashing one of his famous smiles at her. Alanna eyed the new girl closely – although Jon was, in her entirely objective opinion, very handsome, the new girl seemed unfazed. “My name is Jon De Conte. I’m a fifth-year, and I’m on the fencing team. I use a foil.”

 

“Cythera Elden,” Cythera said, tucking her ash-blond hair, worn loose, over an ear. “I’m the student council secretary, and in my fourth year at this school. I’m not part of any of the martial arts teams, but I play clarinet in the orchestra.”

 

“Gary Naxen”, Gary said beside her, paging through Keladry’s funding application, which he had extracted from his pile. “You’re quite well-prepared, I see. The application was very well done.” He looked up at the new girl. “I’m the student council president, and am on the fencing team. I’m an epeeist.”

 

A fact which, unfortunately, did not get Alanna’s team any additional funding. She had already tried that approach last year. _Alanna,_ his response had been, _you know as well as I do that almost everyone in fencing can afford their own equipment and there’s absolutely no need for us to have more club equipment. You know that everyone will buy their own outfits by Christmas, and everyone will have their own weapons before third year. The MMA and archery teams need it more._

 

“Alanna Trebond,” she said, facing the new girl. Keladry was larger than she was, albeit clearly three years younger. “I’m the captain of the fencing team and prefer sabre.”

 

“Raoul Dulacdor,” Raoul said, eyeing the new girl with an odd mixture of suspicion and interest. “You would be good on the kendo team, you know? You’re big, and already know how to wear bogu. We need at least one more girl this year to make a team if any tournaments decide to use a separate women’s division – we only have four girls right now.” Catching Jon’s stern eye, he added, “I’m the captain of our kendo team. I played _fukusho_ at the national intervarsity last year.”

 

“George Cooper. I represent the MMA team, we don’t do this captaincy and ranking bullshit.” He gave Keladry a shark’s grin. “I’ll support you, so long as you don’t take any funding from my boys. We’re mostly scholarship students, so we need the funding to get ourselves to competitions, see? I’m a fifth-year too, and I’m hoping to break into the commercial circuit. Or win a college scholarship.”

 

“George, don’t be mean to her,” Daine scolded. The new girl hadn’t even blinked, her face resting in an expression of total calm. Alanna was impressed – although George was generally good-natured, he had, like most of the MMA team, rough edges to him. His beaky nose had clearly been broken and improperly healed at least twice.

 

“Well, we’re not _all_ locks for the Olympic team, Daine,” George retorted, leaning back in his chair.  “MMA isn’t even an Olympic _sport_.”

 

“You _could_ try the judo or tae kwan do circuits,” Daine replied. “Just restrict yourself to those moves and you’ll have two cracks at the barrel.” She turned and smiled cheerfully at the new girl. “As you can see, it’s a little tense in here. My name is Daine Sarasdottir. I’m the captain of the archery team and shoot recurve bare bow. And contrary to popular belief, I am _not_ a lock for the Olympic team.”

 

“Yeah? When was the last time you scored less than 275 points in a tournament?”

 

Daine sniffed, pursing her lips. “First year. You have no idea if I would shoot any better at freestyle though, and Olympic level doesn’t even _have_ a bare bow category. I’ve never used a sight, or any stabilizers.”

 

“It’s called a _sight_ , Daine, because it helps you _aim_. If you tried one you’d probably score a perfect 300 every tournament,” George said, rolling his eyes. “You’re a lock. They just need to find you, and you’ve only been on the open and regional circuits a year.”

 

Daine opened her mouth to protest, but was interrupted by Jon clearing his throat. “Keladry?” he asked.

 

“Hai!” the new girl replied, startled. “I mean, yes. My name is Keladry Mindelan. I’m a first year. I’m requesting to re-found the naginata club.” She looked down and shuffled her cue cards.

“The naginata club here was disbanded six years ago after the death of the regional _sensei_ , Tanaka- _sensei_. At the time, there were no qualified _dan_ -level instructors in the immediate vicinity, and no _dan_ -level instructor outside the area offered to come instruct at regular intervals. The club itself, which was always small, was unsure how to proceed after Tanaka-sensei’s death and lost certification from the national federation, with remaining interested members transitioning to the kendo team. It should be noted that the Blue Harbour club, which was also instructed by Tanaka-sensei, was also disbanded at this time for the same reasons. However, prior to this period, Crown Academy produced a number of national-level naginataka, including Sabine Macayhill and Rebekah Cooper. Both Sabine and Rebekah are staples on the Tortallan national team.”

“And how do you propose to solve the problems you’ve identified?” Jon asked, leaning forward to rest his chin on steepled fingers. His clear blue eyes were piercing. “So far, you’ve talked about a lack of qualified instructors and noted that the club doesn’t have certification from the national federation. That’s not exactly making your case.”

 

“Yes,” Keladry nodded, conceding the point. “But as you can see from my funding application, I studied naginata in Japan for the last six years as my parents are Tortallan ambassadors. Since I returned three months ago, I’ve been practicing at the Corus dojo. I received my shodan rank at our national competition, and attached as Exhibit A of my funding application is permission from the Tortallan Naginata Federation to found a club here and to instruct it, so long as I keep in regular contact with Nariko-sensei in Corus. You’ll also note Exhibit B of my application lists the old club equipment I’ve managed to find in our equipment rooms – we have eight naginata, two ebus without habu, and three pairs of suneate. In my funding request, I’ve asked for enough for six habu and a trip the regional competition in Corus in April, and for space to practice in, which I understand is a very reasonable amount compared the size of your budget.”

 

“What about when you graduate in five years?” Gary asked. He was thumbing through her application with interest. “Once you graduate, the club will again lack a qualified instructor.”

 

“I contacted Sabine Macayhill – my brother was in her year – and while she and Rebekah both live in Corus four hours’ drive away, both are willing to come and instruct from time to time. I believe that, depending on where I attend college, I would also be willing and able to come and instruct. And as I have five years here, I would hope that I would be able to train, over four years, people who are able to run regular practice, correct themselves with respect to common problems and who would be able to continue with the club with external support. I intend on making the external requirements, such as our relationships with senseis and the requirement for certification from the national federation, transparent so that club members will each know what is required.”

 

“What about equipment?” Raoul asked. “You’ve asked for a lot less funding than I expected – what about bogu sets? If you’re thinking to share with ours, I’m going to come right out and say that we don’t have enough as is and it’s not happening.”

 

“Raoul,” Jon cut in sternly. “It’s club equipment, owned by the school, not by whoever is using it at that time. If your team isn’t practicing at that exact moment, I don’t see what the issue is with sharing.”

 

“No,” Keladry interrupted before Raoul could respond. “We won’t be needing bogu this year. Naginata is significantly more technical than kendo, so I anticipate that this year we will be focusing on non-bogu technique and form. At any rate, naginata bogu _does_ differ from kendo bogu, so we would not be able to share to any great extent anyway. My plan is hopefully to get team members prepared for the engi kyogi, the form competition, for the tournament in April. Should the trip be funded, it would also be good experience for new members to watch the shiai kyogi and to learn how to run a tournament.”

 

“What about space?” Gary asked. “You didn’t specify what room you were thinking of for practicing, though you did request space for a regular six to nine hours per week. Is there a room you are specifically thinking about?”

 

“Not in particular. We would need high ceilings and a reasonably-sized room, but I understand the clubs at Mount Sarryn and Royal University hold practices in a regular gymnasium, and the Port Caynn club uses a dance studio. The Crown Academy team practices used to be held in the kendo dojo, but given a preference, I would prefer a dance studio with high ceilings, for the mirrors.”

 

“Gary, Jon, since it sounds like you’ve already decided,” Raoul cut in, eyes narrowed, arms crossed over his chest. “I just want to point out that as of this moment, there _is_ no club. Recruitment hasn’t happened, so for the moment we have Keladry and no one else. I’m opposed to sharing space with a club that, at the moment, consists of one person. We should set a minimum number of recruits for her to meet before the club is founded. Since it sounds like she won’t be fielding much of a shiai team before next year, there should be enough people that there will, actually, be a shiai team next year after the usual drop-outs. That means more than four recruits – more like at least ten, if naginata dropout rates are like kendo. We _do_ have a reputation to maintain.”

 

“A reasonable point.” Gary looked over to Jon, who nodded. Alanna sucked in a breath, and decided it was high time that she interfered.

 

“Um,” the new girl interrupted. “Um, naginata doesn’t have five spots on a team. It has three. _Sempo_ , _chuken_ and _taisho_. And isn’t it too early to just decide that half my team will quit?”

 

“We all have high quit ratios,” Alanna told her kindly.  “It’s a side effect of doing what we do well. Jon, I made this point before and I’ll make it again – re-founding the naginata club here is a good public indicator that women are welcome in the martial arts. It’s one of the only martial arts traditionally been practiced by women, a fact which, in a clear example of unintended and latent sexism, has made it difficult for it to leave Japan. I would think, as a school that promotes the martial arts and a school that I would _hope_ promotes gender equality, we have a moral obligation to assist this club in being restarted.”

 

There was a long pause.

 

“Very well,” Jon said. “Both of you have made your point. Keladry, as long as you can get two members before the end of club recruitment next week, you’ll have your space. In terms of funding – where can we cut? You said a lot of words I don’t understand on that point, so you’ll have to explain.”

 

“Um, yes.” Keladry looked down at her cue cards. “Naginata are our full weapon. They’re composed of the ebu, which are the oak hafts, and the habu, which are the bamboo slats making up the blade. Like kendo shinai, the bamboo slats need to be replaced for safety every so often, and they can break in a match. We have eight full naginata right now, and getting two more habu would make that ten. Suneate are our shin-guards – unlike kendo, shin strikes are still acceptable in naginata.”

 

“So why don’t we make that two _habu_ , then, and funding for travel to one tournament in April, conditional on you finding at least two new recruits over the club recruitment period. Like the others, you can make a presentation to the student body at the clubs fair next week.” Jon looked over to Gary. “And for space, you can work something out with Raoul for use of the kendo dojo. Our dance studio has a full schedule, and both archery and fencing use the gym, so that’s out. Raoul, old man, you can share. Next topic?”

 

“Umm,” the new girl hesitated, clearly unsure of what she should do now that the decision had been made. Feeling a touch of sympathy, Alanna leaned over to her.

 

“You may as well stay. Since you founded the club, you’re de-facto captain for the year, and the rest of the negotiations might be important for you to hear.”

 

The rest of the yearly funding negotiations ended with no surprises. George got everything he asked for – new hand held padded targets and tournament funding. Daine got her new targets, and Alanna got one extra fencing outfit – the club outfits she had _did_ smell, and she was hopeful for extra recruits this year. She supposed they would make do with the existing weaponry. In a move clearly intended to appease, Raoul got enough for two new bogu sets and another five shinai.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading to the end of Chapter 1! I have a lot of really fun things planned for this universe, so I do hope you will stick around to read more of it.
> 
> About Me: You are probably wondering what my credentials are for writing this fic. I am a lifelong martial artist, starting with kenpo when I was 10 (which I did for 6 years). I was on my high school varsity archery team for four years. In college, I did Shorin-Ryu karate for one year and tried fencing for six weeks (I didn't take to either), then moved to kendo for 2 years. Currently, I am in my 5th year of practicing naginata - for all you naginataka out there, I'm so excited to meet you and practice with you at the World Naginata Championship in June!


	2. The Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An introduction of two fan favourites: Nealan of Queenscove and Domitan of Masbolle.

Kel stared at her French homework, wondering why she had chosen to take French at all. She spoke Japanese and Tortallan fluently already, with a pretty decent understanding of English. Wasn’t that enough for her foreign language requirements? She should have asked in the summer before registering for classes, but she had been so disappointed after hearing about the naginata club closure that she had forgotten. But maybe it wasn’t too late – the second week of school hadn’t even started yet.

 

She spun in her desk chair, staring around at her dorm room. The dormitories at Tortall Academy were plain, but comfortable, which she enjoyed. Her sole decorations were her collection of waving cats, placed carefully on her top shelf out of harm’s way, and a tenugui with the words “Cry in the Dojo, Laugh on the Battlefield” in kanji above her bed.

 

She wouldn’t have a dojo for much longer unless she got to thinking about recruitment, she reminded herself, sighing. Despite her words at the meeting, she was well aware that all martial arts had high drop-out rates, and if she ran practice the way she was accustomed to – the way she wanted to – she too would have drop-outs.  She would need at least five or six recruits, she hoped, but the other captains had been conspicuously close-lipped about the recruitment fair.

 

_It’s a general clubs and teams fair, really,_ Alanna had told her when she asked. _All the clubs get a chance to talk or show something about their clubs. Just do something interesting, and you should have some recruits._

Easy for her to say, Kel thought. Fencing was an already established sport in the Olympics and the largest and oldest of Crown Academy’s martial arts teams. There were no doubt dozens of bright-eyed first years who came to Crown Academy specifically to fence. Alanna probably barely had to breathe to get herself a round of recruits to pick over. Naginata, as a predominantly women’s martial art, lacked the wide exposure that other Japanese martial arts had gotten over the years. It would be the least-known of the martial arts teams and she needed to compensate for that with, as Alanna had so dismissively put it, _something interesting._

 

There was a knock at the door, sharp and insistent. Kel frowned slightly – she wasn’t expecting anyone, and in fact had barely met anyone throughout the last week. She had been too busy in the library preparing for the student council meeting. Looking through the peephole, she saw a tall, brown-haired boy with the pale, slightly ill look of someone who had recently grown a lot in a short time. She opened the door cautiously.

 

The boy barged into her room, holding his hand out as he went. She took it automatically. “Keladry, right? Neal Quinn-Cohen,” he said, speaking as quickly as he moved, showing that he clearly was not as ill as he might have seemed. A closer examination showed Kel that he had emerald green eyes, set under arched brows and wide cheekbones. His light brown hair swept back from a widow’s peak. He flopped himself on her bed, looking very incongruous with her comforter covered in pale pink cherry blossoms. “I heard you wanted to re-found the naginata club. I’m here to help.”

 

“Excuse me?” Kel asked, blinking at this possibly mad boy who had so suddenly invaded her space. “And, exactly, who are you, how do you know me and how do you know where I live? And _what_ about the naginata club?”

 

“As I said, Neal Quinn-Cohen. I’m a second year at the school.” Neal grinned at her, revealing an even line of white teeth. “I heard from my cousin Dom, who is friends with Raoul on the kendo team. You’ll be sharing space with them, which they are none too happy about, but I think it’s a good thing, restarting naginata club. So I’m here to help. As for where you live, the porter is amazingly helpful if you just ask. You don’t have any music in here, do you? I don’t see any albums around, your decorations seem a little sparse.”

 

“I just moved in,” Kel said, slowly sinking back into her desk chair. “And, uh, if you don’t mind me asking, why are you here interested in helping? What does this mean to you? Do you want to join the naginata club?”

 

“Oh no, the captain would kill me,” Neal replied cheerfully. “I’m on the fencing team already, I fence sabre and Alanna would kill me. And I’m on the debate team. But I want to help – I’m from Corus and my sister Jessa is in naginata there, she’s in her last year of junior high. I think you met her? She said something about a new Japanese-trained girl at her club who made some serious inroads on the women’s ladder at nationals. Anyway, I told her there wasn’t any naginata team here, so she was going to try to convince our parents to let her go somewhere in Corus, but they weren’t too happy about that – it’s a family tradition for the Quinns to go to Crown Academy. And anyway, I’d like to see the naginata team come back – we trained some of the best naginata – people? – back in the day. You should take a look in the gymnasium – they have lists of Crown Academy grads that made national teams, and the naginata list is pretty long. A real shame when it fell apart.”

 

“Naginataka,” Kel corrected him automatically. The new boy talked so fast, she could barely keep up, though she did remember a Jessa Quinn-Cohen at her Corus club. She hadn’t been there for very long and had been focused on making shodan, so she hadn’t gotten to know anyone very well. “A person who uses a naginata is called a naginataka. So… if you aren’t interested in joining, how can you help?”

 

“Easy,” Neal said. “You’re new. You don’t know what recruitment fair is like and you don’t know anyone. I’ve been here for a year, and my two older brothers were here, and I have a few cousins here too. Like I said, it’s family tradition for Quinns to go here. I can show you the ropes, make some connections, that kind of thing. So what about that music? Music helps me think. You need a plan for recruitment day.”

 

Kel sighed. The boy was loud and talked a mile a minute, but she couldn’t deny that he had a point. She was new. Crown Academy was one of _those_ schools, the ones to whom powerful families historically sent their children. While her parents were ambassadors, she and her siblings were the first generation to attend, and in any case, with her sisters attending the Monarch Academy of the Arts in Corus, she didn’t have much help here. The boy was looking around her room expectantly. Kel sighed again, and, closing her French books, pulled her laptop from where it had sat closed on the corner of her desk.

 

“I don’t listen to very much music,” Kel said. “Instrumental, if I do. I’ll look for something online – do you have any preferences?”

 

“Hmm, some Michael Buble or Josh Groban, I think. Amaury Vassilli if you’re feeling particularly French.” Neal replied, flashing another smile. “So, recruitment day. What were you thinking?”

 

“I wasn’t thinking of anything yet,” Kel replied, searching YouTube for a playlist. “Alanna said to do something interesting.” She found one that looked promising and put it on.

 

“Hmm, well, fencing doesn’t have a problem with recruitment. It’s the oldest club at the school, you know. It’s been here since the school opened in 1796. And some of us fenced before coming here too. I’ve been fencing since I was seven, because the Quinns have always fenced. Except for my sister, who’s really more a Cohen. And it certainly doesn’t hurt that Alanna’s a Trebond, as in Trebond Enterprises – a lot of influence and all, but don’t tell her I said that! She’s just going to have two people for each weapon give a demonstration match.” Neal leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands, elbows balanced on his knees. “MMA won’t do anything – most of their recruits are scholarship students required to be on the team, and they expect anyone else to seek them out. You can’t afford to take that approach. A good number of archery recruits are scholarship students too, but Daine will probably come on stage with her bow and shoot some things just because she likes it. Kendo will show one of their practice techniques and a match, most likely.”

 

“So… a speech isn’t enough,” Kel stated. She had never been that good at speeches anyway. “I don’t have anyone to work with, so I don’t think I can do a demonstration. I could show a video?”

 

“No, a speech isn’t enough, videos are boring.” Neal shook his head thoughtfully. “Are you sure you can’t do something with one of the kendo people? My sister’s armour looks the same as Dom’s. Or maybe one of the fencers?”

 

Kel thought about it for a moment. _Isshujiai_ wasn’t done in competition, but was still exhibited at major competitions, and she supposed she could always show one of the kendoka, assuming they would be willing, how to put on suneate. That was a big assumption, given their captain’s attitude to her at the meeting.

 

“I could,” she said finally. “If one of them were willing.”

 

Neal grinned, standing up suddenly. “And that’s what you have me for, my dear maiden. Let me talk to some people. Meet me at lunch tomorrow – I’ll be by the windows of the dining hall. Nice to meet you, Keladry.”

***

 

Kel glanced around the crowded dining hall, a tray of the day’s lunch balanced in her hands. The dining hall formed part of the dormitory complex, giving her time to drop her books from her morning classes. She could see, however, that many of her classmates had not done the same – it had taken her almost a third of her lunch hour to be served. Evidently, other students made a beeline for the dining hall at the end of classes. She made a note to do that in the future.

 

“Keladry!” she heard over the murmur of voices, and she saw Neal waving at her from a corner by the windows. A tall, broad-chested boy sat beside him. Joining them at their table, she saw that his hair, though darker than Neal’s, also swept back from a widow’s peak, and although his eyes were blue she saw the resemblance.

 

“Kel is fine, if you prefer it,” Kel sat beside Neal, across from the other boy. She could see the beginning shadows of facial hair on him.

 

“Sure, Kel,” Neal said cheerily. “You should have said something earlier. This is my cousin Dom, Dominic Masbolle. He’s on the kendo team, I mentioned him before. He has a proposition for you.” He wiggled his eyebrows meaningfully, only to be smacked in the back of his head by the other boy.

 

Kel raised an eyebrow. “I thought all Quinns were fencers. But I’m listening.”

 

“Sorry about the idiot,” Dom cut in, flashing her a brilliant smile. He looks good, Kel found herself thinking. Really good. She let a small smile leak onto her face. “I’m not a Quinn. My mom’s a Quinn, but I’m a Masbolle. Masbolles can be whatever we want, so I’m a kendoka.”

 

“Probably because you don’t have the brainpower to be a fencer,” Neal said, pushing the rest of his plate aside. Kel noted that he had finished everything except his vegetables (today, steamed broccoli), which looked to be the only things untouched on his plate. “And you can’t take the pain of being hit with metal instead of wood.”

 

“No, I just like my fights to be in more than one dimension,” Dom replied, unfazed. “Fencing’s so stylized, it just doesn’t feel real. What’s that crap you do with your left hand? Why is it just _hanging_ there behind you? And you’re all one-sided and can’t move off a little three-foot strip… Kendo scoring might seem arbitrary, but at least it feels like an actual fight.”

 

Kel coughed, interrupting what sounded like a familiar argument. “Um, the proposition?”

 

“Right,” Dom replied. “See, kendo’s got a problem – some kendo tournaments split men and women into separate divisions, and we don’t have enough senior women to make a full team. Most competitions allow co-ed teams, and only the individual matches are separated by gender. But we just got word that the Japanese Tortallan Cultural Centre Tournament in November will be split in teams, and Raoul wants to field a full women’s team if we can. We _could_ field a team of four, it’s allowed, but a team with only four forfeits one match out of five.  Since it’s a prospect year – by the end of next summer, TKF, the Tortallan Kendo Federation, will be picking national team prospects - it’s important our senior girls get as much exposure as they can.  You’re familiar with bogu, so the captain thinks we can train you to be bogu-ready in two months. If you agree, Raoul says we’ll help you with a demo on recruitment day.”

 

Kel stuck her fork through a piece of broccoli, thinking about the offer. “I hardly think I will be winning any matches after only two months of practice, so how would I be any better than a forfeit? If kendo scoring rules are similar, a forfeit is the same as a win in hantei. With me on the team, you could be looking at a series of two-point losses.”

 

“Um, hantei?” Neal interrupted. “Explanation for the fencers in the room?”

 

“Hantei is when the judges award a win at the end of encho, or overtime, if no one successfully scores a point. If kendo is like naginata, kendo matches are first two out of three points until the three minute mark, whereupon it can be won based on ippon-gachi, or one point win,” Kel explained. “If the competitors are tied then, in individual competition, they go into a two minute encho, or overtime, where whoever scores first wins the match. But if the two minutes end without a point scored, then the judges decide a winner based on who would have been more _likely_ to score a point had the match continued. Overtime and hantei rules usually only apply in individual matches where there has to be a winner – in team matches or round robin competitions, ties are allowed.”

 

“The same is true for kendo,” Dom agreed. “But Kel’s point was that technically, since a forfeited match doesn’t actually have any points scored for or against attached to it, it’s technically better than a one or two point loss because even if it counts against the team, it doesn’t have any points attached to it. If a team match ties overall in matches won with another team, the number of points scored overall determines the winner.”

 

“That’s ridiculous,” Neal said, rolling his eyes. “Absolutely ridiculous. Kendo, and apparently naginata, scoring makes zero sense. First, I have no idea what even counts as a point because you certainly seem to hit each other way more than points are awarded, and now this. Just give me my electronic buzzer. What’s wrong with your sport?”

 

“Didn’t you just say that I did kendo because I didn’t have the brains for fencing?” Dom grinned. Kel stifled a giggle – it would have been entirely rude to laugh in front of her seniors. “But back to your question, Kel – we’re willing to take the risk. Even if you don’t actually win any matches, we’re hoping you’ll at least make them work for the win. It’s a philosophical point. And if you tie any matches, or score any points, all the better. How does that sound?”

 

“Well, as long as I’m not guaranteeing any wins,” Kel admitted, and returned his smile. She was inclined to accept, and not only because Dom was, well, very good-looking. The reality was, if she was going to be spending the year teaching beginners, she wouldn’t have any chance to get her own practice in. Kendo would keep her from becoming deconditioned and she certainly did not need to be out of practice for the regional in April, nor the national championship in August. “Do I even have enough time to be part of two teams?”

 

“Sure,” Neal replied, leaning forward. “There are a few people in two martial arts teams, but not that many because doing multiple weapons tends to prevent you from doing one really well. I don’t know about your teams, but I know Alanna expects us to work out in the gym on our own time, outside of practice. Being on multiple teams would probably take out some of that. But a lot of us are part of a non-martial arts team too.”

 

“Raoul expects us to work out on our own time too, but you probably won’t have to worry about that because of naginata,” Dom added. “Hae, Midori, Evelyn and Alice really want you to join – Hae and Midori have fairly good chances of coming up as prospects if they have a good year, and a full team that does well reflects well on them. It gives them more chances for a team win as well as individuals.”

 

Kel speared another piece of broccoli. There were a number of top-level naginataka who also did kendo at a high level – at least one American, a few British. She wasn’t too concerned about confusing the two sports.

 

“All right,” she said finally. “Who is volunteering to work with me on the demo?”

 

Dom smiled widely at her. “We’ll figure out what works best with you later. See you in the kendo dojo tonight – we should get started early.”

 

***

 

When Kel showed up at the kendo dojo, she found Dom accompanied by four other girls, all decked in kendo gi and hakama. She raised an eyebrow, but refrained from making any comment – as a sempai, Dom deserved her respect, especially if he would be helping her with a demonstration.

 

“Kel, meet your teammates,” Dom announced as she approached. “Hae Min Park, Midori McCann, Evelyn Tarell and Alice Lee. Since you’ll be on their team, they decided that they have a vested interest in your learning so they showed up.”

 

“And we’re here to practice,” one of the girls said. She was Asian and had tied her long black hair into a tight bun at the top of her head. She circled around Kel thoughtfully, stopping in front with her right hand on her hip. Standing face to face, Kel noted that the girl stood only two or so inches taller than her. She held a shinai loosely in her left hand. “I like you already. Good size, but we’ll have to get you a proper gi. You can’t taiatari in that thin one. You can call me Hae. I’m taisho of the women’s team for the JTCC Tournament and will probably be fukusho on Team A the rest of the year.”

 

Kel nodded politely to her, though she heard Dom snort in disbelief. Glancing over Hae’s shoulder, she saw a girl with dark brown hair, similarly tied in a bun, smack him in the shoulder, presumably to stop him saying whatever he was about to say.

 

“That’s Midori,” Hae said, noticing Kel’s gaze. “She’s a fourth-year, and she’ll be fukusho on the women’s team. Standing to her right are Evelyn and Alice, both of them are second-years and have a ways to go.” Evelyn was a short, stocky girl with short blonde curls that she had pinned tightly to her head, and she nodded. Alice, also Asian and considerably slighter than the other girls, smiled hesitantly.

 

“We just started last year,” she said apologetically. “This will be our first year in shiai competitions too.”

 

“Did you practice over the summer holidays?” Hae demanded sharply. “Both of you live near sizable kendo dojos, and I definitely put you in touch with them so I hope you did. Midori and I can’t carry the whole competition at the JTCC Tournament – at least one of you has to reliably win your matches for us to move on.”

 

“Yes, yes, we practiced,” Evelyn said soothingly. “I trained with the Mount Sarryn club at the City of the Gods, and Alice trained with the Port Legann club. Seiji trains out of there in the summers too. We’ll train extra with Keladry before November, and we’ll do our best at the tournament. It means a lot to win for us too.”

 

Hae opened her mouth, presumably to continue lecturing, but Dom interrupted.

 

“Kel prefers to be called Kel,” Dom said dryly. “And we should start practicing – we’re not going to have exclusive use of the dojo this year as we had last year and Kel’s got a long way to go if you want to put her on your shiai team in November.”

 

They showed Kel the footwork in kendo, which came easily to her. Suriashi was a lot like okuriashi, although both of her feet were facing forward and she was never to bring her left foot in front of her right. She was to face exactly forward at all times, and oddly enough as she found it, there were absolutely no switching sides. Her shinai, when loose, was to be held in her left hand. When drawn and in kamae, or stance, it was to be right hand further up than the left, with all power snapping out from her left hand. She found it odd, but at the same time not uncomfortable, and was thankful that at least six years of naginata had given her good calluses on her feet. Without them, she was fairly certain she would have blistered and bled, and as it was she pulled off a quarter-sized piece of skin by the end of the night.

 

“Good practice, girls,” Hae said finally, reluctantly. “I’m glad you haven’t forgotten much over the summer. Tomorrow, bring your bogu, except for Kel. Kel, you can keep practicing basics with Dom while I beat these three into bogu shape starting tomorrow.”

 

“And we can start working on your demonstration for recruitment day tomorrow too,” Dom added, heading for the door. “It’s only a week away. And since Hae won’t say it, I will – nice work. I have no worries for November. You’ll be great.”

 

Hae pursed her lips thoughtfully, but nodded. “I hope so. Kel, I think I have an old gi that will fit you – I’ll bring it with me tomorrow. We can’t teach you to taiatari without it – or rather, we could and we would, but I don’t think you would like it.”

 

“Thanks,” Kel replied. “I’m sure I can get one of my own soon, though.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Hae said dismissively, waving her right hand. “I can’t wear it anymore anyway – I grew taller. You probably will too, and you’ll have to cover the costs of that, so don’t worry about it. See you tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was for all you people intrigued enough to read more! I do appreciate all your kudos and your comments, and I'm glad that someone out there is interested in accurate depictions of all the martial arts. Especially naginata, because it's the most awesome (obviously). Kendoka, archers, fencers, and karateka in my readership can fight me over this.
> 
> Answers to Questions You May Be Wondering:  
> 1\. Wait, where is Tortall?  
> My best guess, somewhere in Europe, present day. 
> 
> 2\. Why does Crown Academy have 5 years? Is it a high school?  
> Not all schooling systems stick to 4 years (as in North America). Some do 3 for high school (e.g. Japan, France), whereas Italy has 5 years in secondario. I happened to like 5 years so Tortall mimics Italy in this respect. This means, as a first year, Kel is 14, Neal is 15 and Dom and Daine are 16, Alanna is 17 and Jon, Raoul, Gary, etc. are 18. University is 3 years long, consistent with most of Europe.
> 
> 3\. Can I join naginata/kendo?  
> ABSOLUTELY. I am happy to forward you to your closest club, if you happen to be in a country that has these sports. Unfortunately, just like in this fanfiction, since naginata is a historically women-dominated sport, it hasn't done as well as kendo or karate, but you may be lucky!
> 
> 4\. What's with all the OCs?  
> The sad part about embarking in a project like this is realizing that, main characters aside, TP's own works don't actually have that many women who fight. Most of her women who do fight are archers, and I won't change the characters to shove them in a different sport. Rest assured, you'll see Thayet, Buri, Miri, etc in the archery team and Aly in the MMA team, and Yuki and Shinko will make an appearance too. But since TP's only female character who seemed amenable to kendo rather than fencing is Kel, the other women in kendo are OCs. My personal policy is that OCs only engage in relationships with other OCs, so have no worries on that front. 
> 
> Unfortunately I'm at a naginata competition next weekend, so no update next week. But I'll come back being inspired, I promise.


	3. Politics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every high school has politics. Crown Academy is no exception.

Every high school has politics. Some people, for reasons obvious or not, have status while others do not. Kel knew this. She had been through this before in Japan, but there, it had been easy in a way – she was the gaijin. The Outsider. There had always been a few people who would invite her to sit with them at lunch, just out of fascination with her skin and hair colour, and by the time they had bored of her she had usually made some friends. And at any rate, in a Japanese school, you could eat lunch at your desk, which was truly yours instead of being yours-for-the-period as it so often was here.

 

Staring out into the dining room with a laden tray in her hands, Kel decided that this was not a new experience she particularly liked. She had no idea where she was going to sit. She saw the kendo girls had clustered at a table with about eight or nine boys, including Dom, but wasn’t sure whether she was allowed to join them without an invitation.

 

She couldn’t even see an empty table. Her maths class had ended late and she had, yet again, been stuck in the crush of students in the cafeteria.

 

“Feeling lost?” she heard a familiar voice behind her. She glanced up at Neal – standing beside him, she realized that despite her height, he still had four inches on her. Clearly both of them had been blessed, if it could be called that, with early growth spurts. “Come on, I’ll join you for lunch today. We’ll find a table.”

 

“You don’t have to,” Kel said hurriedly, embarrassed. She would figure it out here, really she would. It was just a new school, and it was at least somewhat her fault for spending most of her lunch hour last week in the library. “Don’t you have your own group of friends?”

 

“In a manner of speaking,” Neal replied, with an odd smile. “But it’s fine. I said I would show you the ropes, didn’t I? That includes stuff like this. You’re doing my sister a favour and besides, you’re cool.” He began walking over to the tables near the windows, clearly the ones he preferred.

 

“I don’t want to be trouble to you …” Kel demurred, but she was already following him as he found a mostly empty table and set down his tray. He nodded at the two students already sitting there, a nod which clearly meant something quite different than those Kel was used to because the two students picked up their trays and left. Kel found herself watching their backs, taken aback.

 

“They didn’t have to leave for us to sit here,” she said finally.

 

“No, they didn’t,” Neal agreed, picking up his spoon. “But you’ll find they usually do anyway – not because I asked them to, but because some of my more _awesome_ teammates have trained them to.”

 

“Oh.” Kel sat down hesitantly. “I don’t think I like that.”

 

“I’m not saying you should,” Neal shrugged, digging into his rice pudding. “But that’s how it is here. The pyramid is still shaking out for this year though. There was some truly _epic_ shit that went down at the end of last year.”

 

Kel paused in the cutting of her meatloaf. She understood the concept. She didn’t have to like it or participate in it.  “I’m not really interested,” she said bluntly. She wondered vaguely if she should be telling him to eat his meal before his dessert.

 

“How can you not be interested? What else is high school is for? It’s about these moments, about the parties and school dances and unrestrained teenage hormones, about the cheerleaders and jocks and underdogs and about the drama and fights and young love.” Neal punctuated each of his points with a wave of his spoon, then sighed gustily. “You’re not the slightest bit romantic, are you? And anyway, as far as all of that goes, Crown Academy probably has it worse than most schools. You’d do well to listen – you’re deep into it whether you like it or not. You _are_ a captain of a new sports team. So you need to learn how to play this game whether you like it or not.”

 

Kel chewed on her meatloaf. God, what she would do for a bowl of rice – she never really felt full without one. She sighed, thinking over Neal’s words. Damn it all to hell, but he was probably right. “Fine,” she grumbled.  “So where are you on this school hierarchy?”  

 

“Me?” Neal grinned sheepishly. “I’m probably pretty close to the top. Fencers are always pretty close to the top. Anyone on a martial arts team is probably in pretty good stead, really, other than you. Generally it’s fencers on top, followed by kendo and the archers. The mixed martial arts guys are all really well-respected in a theoretical sort of way, but since most of them are scholarship students, most people don’t interact with them much. You’re still unknown because naginata’s been non-existent for six years and no one knows what to think of you. It’s more complicated than that, obviously, but that’s the basics.”

 

“So the complications.” Neal dug deeper into his rice pudding. “I saw you looking at the kendo group. You could _probably_ join them without any problems; you’re competing for them already. The first years usually can’t. I couldn’t sit with any of the senior fencers last year – I sat with the debate team and the other fencer tryouts. This year, I can join the team for lunch if I want, but don’t know where because half my team is waiting for the fallout from last year. Most of us are hiding out until we see where the dust settles.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

“See, look here.” Neal waved his spoon in the direction of a particularly loud table. Obviously seniors, Kel didn’t recognize them. At least, she didn’t until a willowy blonde, who had been perched on the table, hopped off to wrap her arms around Jon De Conte, squealing. Kel frowned slightly – despite the obvious attention she was giving him, Jon’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was, in fact, staring off in quite another direction.

 

“So that table there, you can think of that as the head table. School royalty sit there – most of them are either fencers or dating fencers. They all come from very wealthy, very distinguished families. Last year, Alanna was sitting at that table too. She and Jon were the it couple.” Kel could tell from his tone that the last two words were capitalized. _The It Couple_.

 

“Josiane Rittevon there is new – she never sat there before. She’s not a fencer, and last year she was sitting over there.” He motioned his fork in another direction, at a smaller table. “Theatre club. Last year, more than half of the fencing team were sitting with Alanna and Jon every day, and almost all the senior fencers sat there at least part of the time. This year, Jon’s sitting with, hmm,” he paused, examining the table closely. “There’s Francis Nond, of Nond Industries, and of course Gary Naxen is there… that’s about half the foilists and epeeists. No second years – no, wait – there’s Faleron Mainderoi, guess he’s not waiting to see where the dust settles. He’s an epeeist.”

 

“What’s the difference between the three of those anyway?” Kel interrupted. She didn’t know much about the sport, even if it was practically Tortall’s national sport. Somehow she had the sense that following Neal’s conversations would require brushing up on her fencing knowledge.

 

“Oh, you don’t know?” Neal brightened. “There are three styles in fencing, three different weapons and different rules for each of them. First, there’s the foil – that’s a lighter weapon than the other two, and beginner fencers always start on foil. It’s the simplest – you can only score with the tip, and right of way rules apply. And you can only target the chest and back – anything outside is off-side. Foilists are usually small and fast, or they’re beginners. Epees are quite a bit heavier than foils, and you can hit the other person anywhere on their bodies and it will be a point. No right-of-way rules, but you can still only thrust. For some weird reason, epeeists tend to be the tallest and the prettiest. Sabre, which is what I do, is lighter than the epee, but you can slash with it as well as thrust. Target is the entire upper body, and right of way rules apply. We’re the tanks and, of course, the best. It’s all the brains of foil, with all the brutality of epee. That’s the basics of it. Now, speaking of sabre, our dear captain Alanna is now over… there.” He pointed again with his spoon.

 

“I thought Alanna was the captain for fencing?” Kel asked. “Or just sabre?”

 

“She’s captain for all of fencing, but because our weapons are so different, Jon informally captains the foil group and Gary the epeeists. Alanna’s in charge overall though.” Neal paused, thinking. “I always wondered about that. She was already captain last year, but it’s odd that Jon wasn’t appointed captain. Oh, back to what I was saying before explaining fencing, so last year Jon and Alanna were together so almost the entire team was over there, but this year Alanna’s sitting with… a bunch of sabreurs and they’re sharing with some of the archers. That’s not surprising, Alanna and Daine are friends.” He seemed vaguely disappointed.

 

“I see.”

 

“No, I don’t think you do,” Neal replied, amused. “You can’t possibly, because no one does. One minute, Alanna Trebond, owning in trust 25% of Trebond Industries and heir to another 25%, and Jon De Conte, only son and full heir of the Conte Group, are together and are Crown Academy’s It Couple. Midwinter Ball and they were all over each other – they were a lock for King and Queen of the Midsummer Ball. But sometime about a week before Midsummer, they’re off. And in fencing, the lines are drawn. What am I to do?!” He flung his arms out dramatically.

 

“Sounds like a problem,” Kel said nonchalantly. She was confident that she had all information she really needed, but equally confident that Neal wouldn’t stop talking until, well, she supposed until he was out of words.

 

“If I sit with Jon, then basically I’ve betrayed my captain and my fellow sabreurs! But if I sit with Alanna’s group, I’m basically taking her side when I have no idea what happened!” Neal waved his arms in emphasis. “I like Alanna, don’t get me wrong, if you held me at gunpoint and made me choose I would go with her. But I don’t dislike Jon, I don’t even know him that well because I’ve been a sabreur since I was ten, so I never trained with him. And we’re not in the same social circles either – my parents are both prominent doctors, yes, but our family wealth is nowhere in the same league as the De Contes. It’s not as though I can just ignore him, Jon is at the top of this little school hierarchy, so I can’t exactly sit with either of them.” He sighed again. “So sometimes I sit with Dom, sometimes I sit with the debate team, and sometimes I sit with a few other second year fencers. And of course, I sit with you. You’re cool, in a stiff-upper-lip kind of way.”

 

“Neal?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Eat your vegetables.”

 

***

 

As far as first friends went, Neal was a good one. He was obviously well connected; the Quinns were, he told her in the middle of another extended spiel, good Irish Catholics with a long and extended history at Crown Academy. Technically, Kel was pretty certain that made them Tortallan through and through, but never mentioned it. As he admitted freely, as a fencer, he was obviously near the top of the hierarchy, and he reminded her ad nauseum that his association with her was improving her standing and, by consequence, the number of recruits she was likely to get for naginata club.

 

“Don’t underestimate it – tons of people join fencing every year because they want to sit at the royal table. It’s the same for archery, tons of people join every year. Both fencing and archery actually cut people through the first year, you know. We kick people out for not performing – I never had to worry because I’ve done fencing for years and I’m actually not that bad. Fencing takes between 8 and 10 every year split between foil, epee and sabre. Even though people who fenced before have a leg up, Alanna always takes the best beginners too. Archery is far more straightforward – they just average all the beginners’ scores between all the practices and competitions and the top 10 are on the team.

 

“When it comes to the guys who punch savagely at each other, they don’t get a lot of people joining for reasons like popularity. They don’t advertise. Something like 60% of them are on scholarships requiring them to be on that team, and anyone else has to seek them out. And when it comes to kendo, Dom says they don’t worry too much about the problem at all – they just wait for natural attrition to take care of it. Something about four months of bleeding feet scaring most people off.”

 

Kel had laughed at that. When she started naginata, her feet had bled for at least eight months.

 

Neal was also helpful when it came to academics. She wasn’t permitted to drop French, but fortunately French was Neal’s foreign language. “It’s the language of romance!” he had said when she mentioned it. He also noticed that she took most of her notes in a combination of Tortallan and Japanese, and offered to proofread her essays for her – an offer she couldn’t afford to pass up. She might speak Tortallan perfectly, albeit with a trace of a Japanese accent, but her written Tortallan was on the weak side.

 

But perhaps most importantly for the moment, his good sense of the school let her, with the help of the kendo team, plan the best strategy she could have for Recruitment Day. She and Neal had secured a table near the windows on Wednesday to plan.

 

“So Recruitment Day is on Saturday,” Hae slid her plate of pasta onto the space beside Kel. It was heaped as high as she could make it. Kel found herself doing the same thing these days – for some reason, she was hungry virtually all the time, even with double and triple helpings. “We’re at a boarding school, so they think we don’t have anything to do on the weekend.”

 

“Which is _true_ ,” Neal replied. “I don’t know about you, but I have practice on Saturday nights. Since fencing is basically three teams in one, there’s a joint practice once a week but we split the salle between us the rest of the week. Sabre gets Wednesdays and Saturdays. And we’re 60 km away from the closest civilization, I don’t know what you think you’ll be doing!”

 

Dom dropped himself into the chair beside Neal. “I don’t know what you’ll be doing, cuz, but I have a driver’s licence and I’m going to go drink in Blue Harbour on weekends.”

 

“You’re sixteen, Dom. You might be able to go to Blue Harbour, but you can’t drink,” Hae replied, rolling her eyes. “You can’t drink in public for another two years. Let’s get to the topic at hand, shall we? Recruitment Day. It starts at 10 in the morning. The schedule’s always the same – all of the general clubs go first. The order of the general club presentations are decided by draw, but that doesn’t really matter for us. We’re always at the end of the day because the school thinks that, since we’re the most important, people will stay around for the entire event.”

 

“Poor reasoning on their part,” Neal snorted. “We’re at a _boarding school_. They stuck it on a Saturday because we’re here anyway, but for the exact same reason we can choose what parts of Recruitment Day we want to attend. If I want to sleep in until sports presentations at 3, I can and I probably will. I _do_ have sabre practice that night – captain says it’s no reason to skip practice.”

 

“Debate club,” Kel explained, catching Hae’s frown.

 

“Sorry I’m late,” Raoul said, pulling up a chair between Dom and Hae. “Spanish ran late. Hey, Kel, I’m sorry I haven’t come and talked to you in person yet, I’m hearing really good things about you from Hae and Dom. I’m really sorry about the attitude I had at student council – you know how it goes, we all sort of have to take that no-holds-barred approach during the funding grudge-match. Except for fencing, because all of them come from really wealthy families anyway.”

 

Neal coughed pointedly.

 

“Yeah, Quinn, you too,” Raoul snorted. “Think an immigrant like me doesn’t know whose family runs the Queenscove Hospital in Corus?”

 

Neal snorted in return. “Immigrant you might be, Dulacdor, but think I don’t know _your_ family runs most of the wine trade between Spain and Tortall?”

 

“Just take them out and measure them, will you?” Hae snapped. “We do have an agreement with Kel here. I want to be on Team Tortall for Worlds when I’m 18. So Recruitment Day - we’ve all got a table to man all day, and a presentation. Kendo’s is at 3 and naginata at 3:30. We need to work out who will man your table.”

 

“I assumed I’d be doing it,” Kel said mildly, poking at her pasta with her fork. “I couldn’t possibly ask anyone else to.”

 

“But you can’t during your presentation and you’ll probably get most of your signups after your presentation.” Neal pointed out. “I’ll man your table during the afternoon. And in case you think this is too big of a favour and you couldn’t possibly, I’ll remind you that I’m still going to sleep in that morning. You’re on your own until at least one in the afternoon.”

 

Kel gave Neal a wry half-smile; she had been about to make exactly those objections. “All right,” she replied dubiously. “Do you need me to leave you notes about naginata?”

 

Neal waved his hand. “I should be fine, but if you want to leave me some notes, write them in Tortallan please.”  

 

“So there’s the table sorted out,” Hae said, twirling her fork in her pasta. “The presentation. What were you thinking?”

 

Kel had been thinking about that since she had gotten the offer from kendo club. She didn’t have another naginataka to work with, which meant that her first thoughts of uchikaeshi or engi were out. “I was thinking I could demonstrate the main strikes and then we could do an isshujiai, a match between myself and a kendoka of your choice. I found three pairs of suneate, shin-guards, in the club storeroom so I just need to know which person kendo wants to put forward and I’ll show him or her how to put them on.”

 

“Boring start, second half is promising,” Neal said decidedly. “Everyone does a match of some kind except archery, and they’ll up the ante a bit and have Daine shoot at some more impressive things – apples off people’s heads, that sort of thing. Each of our groups in fencing is doing a match.”

 

“So the new element really is that you’re doing a match against a different weapon group,” Raoul murmured through his pasta. “That’s important. You said three pairs of suneate?”

 

“Yes, three pairs. One extra large and two large, but the sizing tends to be smaller because they are made for Japanese women. I wear a large.”

 

“So tell us about isshujiai,” Dom asked, focusing his bright blue eyes on her. Kel fought to keep the blush from her face – she hardly knew the guy, why on earth was she blushing?  “It’s a match between a kendoka and a naginataka?”

 

“Yes,” she replied, making an effort to keep her voice normal. Hae shot her a Look, but said nothing - which was so unlike her that Kel immediately realized she would be hearing about this later. “Yes, an _isshujiai_ is a traditional match between a kendoka and a naginataka. There’s really not much to say – targets include men, kote, do and sune – head, wrists, torso and shins. The kendoka is allowed to strike sune as well. Scoring rules are the same, but we don’t have any shinpan, referees, so I don’t know how we’ll decide a winner.”

 

“Some of the kendo people will do it,” Raoul decided. “That’s easy enough. You strike at the end of the naginata as well, right?”

 

“Yes, we strike with the monouchi – it’s marked on the naginata with a knot in the bamboo and is about where the blade tip curves up.”

 

“We should decide who she should go up against. How about we scrap the whole demonstration part and go straight into the _isshujiai_?” Hae suggested. “Three pairs of suneate – three of us. Kel will take us on one at a time.”

 

Neal’s eyes lit up. “That’s a great idea. As long as you pick the right people. It has to be people who are well known and well respected on your team, and we can market that really effectively too. We can stage a scene in the hallways between classes – have some swearing and an open challenge or something. Word would get around really fast.”

 

Kel exchanged a look with Hae, but Dom spoke up first. “Oh, well, that sounds like  an absolutely brilliant idea and it would certainly promote the club, and it would only cost our reputation for having integrity and not being dramatic and, you know, not being those savage foreign clubs full of national traitors just like half of _your_ club thinks we are so how about – no.”

 

“Come on, Dom, it’s not _half_ the club, don’t exaggerate,” Neal replied in a cajoling tone. “Joren hardly counts. He’s _one_ _guy_. And our school runs on drama, it’s not going to murder your rep – we all have some drama. Ignore fencing, archery has drama. Even the MMA guys have drama, though I guess no one knows much about it because they’re so isolated. It’s a great marketing technique and would generate a ton of buzz for naginata.”

 

Kel glanced over again at Hae but caught her exchanging looks with Dom and Raoul.

 

“I wouldn’t call Joren _no on_ e _,_ Neal,” Raoul said cautiously. “His father _is_ the leader of the Tortallan Heritage Party.”

 

“Which has, what, four seats in the House? That’s nothing. Heritage Party is an extremist laughingstock.”

 

“It’s less of a laughing matter for us.” Hae’s voice was stern. “Racism still exists in Tortall. Things that apply to your club don’t necessarily apply to ours because we play foreign sports with many team members who have foreign ancestry who some would say don’t _really_ belong here, or in Tortall - even though most of us are Tortallan citizens. We have to be held at a higher standard – not only because we don’t have the same recruitment rates as fencing does.”

 

“Which means, of course, that we can’t be associated with that kind of drama. Kendo’s selling point is that we’re a tough, tight-knit community that _doesn’t do that_ ,” Raoul stated firmly. “So no. We’ll do the matches because we have a deal and it’s interesting, but we are not faking a public fight.”

 

Neal sighed dramatically. “You guys are killing my enthusiasm, but I get it. I guess. How about flyers? Everyone does flyers. We’ve got flyers, orchestra has them, debate has them. You have flyers. Three matches, though. Who’s going to do them? Raoul should do one – captain against captain, right? Never had a showdown like that before in Crown Academy history.”

 

“I think that’s a given,” Raoul agreed. “The other two… well-known and well-respected, right? What year? Seniors would have the most impact, I would think.”

 

“No, the best approach is to use the first two matches to build excitement for the third match, which should be Raoul’s match because he’s the captain,” Dom said. “Cleon Kennan is a second year who’s pretty good – probably the best of the second-years right now. Or Midori McCann, she’s famous after the JTCC match two years ago when that guy broke her rib and she got back up and won the match.”

 

“Midori is a good pick,” Neal agreed. “I wasn’t even here then, and I know that story. Didn’t the team have to stop at the hospital on the way back?”

 

Raoul grinned at the memory. “Yeah, that’s right. She hadn’t realized the guy broke her rib when he shoved her to the ground. She just got back up and slammed back into him, and then on the way back she said her stomach really hurt in a weird way. We were worried she had appendicitis or something, so we took her to the A and E and it turned out she’d broken a rib. She was off practice for a month. Okay, so Midori is in. She’ll be match 2. The first match should be a strong up-and-comer – Dom?”

 

“I’m not that good,” Dom replied, shaking his head. “I haven’t won anything in the individuals yet, even if I’m not being eliminated in the first match anymore.”

 

“But you are well-known. What with your Quinn ties and you being generally nice to everyone, everyone knows who you are. It’s not a bad choice,” Hae mused. “It doesn’t actually matter how good you are or not, but don’t be that self-deprecating – you might not be able to beat _me_ , but you’ll probably medal this year. It’s a good selection – Dom, then Midori and then Raoul. Midori will be in, her mom did naginata in Japan so I’m good with saying she’ll do it.”

 

“Of course I’m in. It sounds like a fun match. Dom?”

 

Dom sighed. “All right. I’m in.”

 

“Then I’ll handle the posters!” Neal bounced up from the table. “I know a guy who does great posters. They’ll be all over the school with everyone else’s posters tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am happy you stuck around until Chapter 3! Hooray for detailed descriptions of modern competition in fencing, naginata and kendo! If anyone reading has fenced, I would be happy for your input - I lasted all of six weeks in fencing, so I lack the insider knowledge I have of the rest of these sports. My excuse? Fencing doesn't feel real! Why can't you move off a stupid three-foot strip? What's your left hand doing just hanging back there? 
> 
> Unfortunately, tournament took more out of me than expected, so next chapter will be up in approximately 2 weeks. I have been inspired, but it turns out most of my inspiration is for reading Naginata: The Definitive Guide by Alex Bennett again - an absolute must-read for anyone in naginata, though probably incredibly boring for anyone not.


	4. Recruitment Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Recruitment Day! While Kel searches for at least two teammates to meet her quota for naginata team, Alanna and Daine make their own preparations.

The next morning, Kel stared, aghast, at the new poster for naginata club posted on the bulletin board just outside of her first class. On one hand, Neal wasn’t kidding – he worked fast. It had been less than twenty four hours since their meeting, and he’d already come through on the posters. In hindsight, she wished he was a little less capable and a little less reliable because she _knew_ , without having to look, that these posters were already dotting the scattered bulletin boards throughout the school. There was really nothing she could do about it now. It was not Neal’s capability or reliability that attracted her regrets, not really, only his… well, his taste.

 

The posters were not a far cry from his initial thoughts of a faked scene in the hallways between classes. The page looked like it had come out of a comic book, or rather an old-school arcade fighting game; it had been sectioned into two sides and four panels. On one side, anime faces clearly identifiable as Dom, Midori and Raoul glared proudly, faced off against a determined-looking caricature Kel could only assume was herself. It helped, of course, that small captions clearly identified who was participating in the matches. The heading read _Challenge Accepted!_ with a splashy caption below announcing _Kendo vs. Naginata!_

 

The small print at the bottom of the poster, which Kel devoutly wished was a sentence or two about naginata club itself, instead read _First-year Keladry Mindelan issues a challenge on behalf of the newly-formed naginata club against the Kendo team captain, Raoul Dulacdor and rising stars Midori McCann and Dominic Masbolle. Who will prevail?! Recruitment Day, Centre-stage, Gymnasium at 3:30pm._

 

“He certainly chose some cheesy lines, didn’t he?” Kel heard a mild-mannered voice behind her. Midori peeked over her shoulder to examine the poster more closely. “I can only assume that Hae had nothing to do with this. She hates anime, she thinks we get too many otaku already.”

 

“I should have kept a closer eye on him,” Kel admitted. “It’s not my ideal of a poster either. I don’t even know what this poster is advertising.”

 

“No, it’s clearly advertising the naginata club. See the last line? _Newly-formed naginata club_. They know where to go to sign up. At any rate, I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” Midori replied, shrugging. “It’ll certainly draw some attention, which is what I think you need. Far be it, of course, to challenge what our taisho says, but Hae can be uptight. Whether or not someone’s an otaku is no marker of whether they are a good martial artist. Looking forward to our match, Keladry.” She nodded and disappeared down the hallway.

 

“Look great, don’t they?” Neal slung an arm around her. “I work fast, and Brad’s a great artist.”

 

“A little… dramatic, isn’t it?” Kel replied slowly. “I’m not sure if this is the image I wanted to give…”

 

“Nah, it’ll be fine!” Neal waved his hand dismissively. “It’s attention-grabbing, it’s not as if you and the kendo team are faking a public fight – everybody knows it’s just marketing – but you’ll still have a lot of people watching your matches, and that’s when you’ll be able to sell them. Have a pitch prepared for the end of your matches sending people to your registration table, I’ll get them signed up for you. Where’s your first class?”

 

Kel sighed resignedly. Like it or not, they were already plastered over the school and between kendo practices (Raoul having deemed this “the week before we are inundated with beginners so let’s practice every day” week), she was too busy to try to work out another solution. “English,” she said. “In classroom 201.”

 

***

 

Recruitment Day dawned bright, clear and cold. Kel was up at six in the morning – she was a morning person – and slipped into the kendo dojo with her naginata to practice. Even if many experts said that naginata, properly wielded, could almost always beat kendo, Kel was less confident on the “properly wielded” part. Naginata, she had been taught, was an art of striving for perfection. One did not reach the teaching ranks without many years of practice and effort, and unlike Western sports, “many years” meant “between your highest practitioner rank, _godan_ , and the highest teaching rank, you have thirty-five years to practice.” Given that getting _godan_ was in itself a process taking than fifteen years or more, she was looking at a lifetime of learning how to properly wield a naginata.

 

Even if the three candidates put forward by the kendo club weren’t what you would call _experts_ in that craft, kendo being very similar in terms of mastery as naginata, she knew they also would not take a match without a fight. Over the past week, she had come to realize that if Crown Academy kendo had a credo, it was “Don’t take things lying down.” Even when it was self-destructive, Crown Academy kendoka took risks and threw everything they had into it. She knew they would not make it easy.

 

It didn’t help she hadn’t practiced in nearly two weeks, she mused as she began her patterns of _happoburi_ , swings. _Jogeburi_ , _nanameburi_ , _yokoburi, nanameburi shakara, furikaeshi_ , fifty swings in each direction, taking care to work her left and right sides equally. Unlike how it was portrayed in the books, there was nothing fancy about _happoburi._ It was simply swinging – up and down, side to side, angled cuts, repeated without variation. The motion let her focus on her form and precision, and making perfect cuts without the pressure of an opponent or a competition at hand.

 

Recruitment Day was to start, formally, at 10, which was not nearly late enough for Neal’s liking. He would, he informed her loftily, take over at her table around 2, after he had slept until a proper hour and had lunch. She figured that was for the best – at least it was some measure of control. She didn’t want to think about what he could say to her potential recruits.

 

She had prepared short information sheets about naginata for anyone interested and, feeling optimistic, copied a hundred – almost enough for the first year class. She would leave her bogu out as a display and planned on wearing her gi and hakama the whole day. Unlike the navy blue, quilted kendo uniforms, naginataka wore a white gi with a black hakama. One of the kendo boys, a tall red-head whose name she hadn’t learned, had unearthed a naginata banner from the storage room while pulling out kendo’s shinpan, judges’, flags. Even if it had been dusty, it was nothing a washcloth in the washrooms didn’t solve, so at least her booth would not look out of place compared to the others.

 

Raoul had convinced three of the senior kendoka, which he had described as “the ones who would die before doing anything dishonourable,” to act as judges. Kel had expressed concerns about unfair judging, or at least uninformed judging, only to have all three stare at her with open looks of horror. Each had been made to swear an oath to judge fairly and she had gotten the open opportunity to show them whatever videos she deemed necessary to show them what proper naginata strikes looked like.  She had, accordingly, taken that opportunity to force her captive senior audience through a number of matches on youtube, from levels as high as the 2015 World Championship in Canada, to the Japanese Empress Cup, to the matches from last year’s European Championships. She was satisfied that whatever happened, she had done her best to ensure the matches would be fair.

 

***

 

At that moment, Alanna Trebond was rolling around in her bed, trying to find a comfortable position to doze in. It was her fourth Recruitment Day, her second as team captain, and she had _no idea_ why she was even remotely nervous about it.

 

Other than the obvious, that is. For some reason, almost two and a half months later, she was still getting whispers in the hallway and her fencing club was still a mess. Fencing club had always been more, well, _fractured_ than the other clubs. Archery was all about transparency and open scorekeeping, the best archers being the best archers, full stop. The hand-to-hand combat group was, at least from the outside, all about consensus. It was them against the world, and they stuck together. Kendo was all about hard work and giving it a hundred and ten – and when they said a hundred and ten, they meant it. Although they were the smallest club, they were the ones most often in the infirmary for injuries. One of their members _had_ , it was known, broken a rib in a match and gotten up to continue fighting.

 

Fencing, though, was all about backstabbing and conflict and trying to one-up each other. The majority of the fencing team were descended from the decimated Tortallan aristocracy – the intellectually smarter part of it, anyway. An odd fact about Tortallan history, that. Unlike the bloody French Revolution, which led to the fast and brutal Terror, the Tortallan monarchy in the late 1700s had willingly relinquished power in a desperate effort to prevent civil war. The move brought them an all too temporary reprieve of only a generation before the only slightly less bloody Tortallan revolution, as they called it now. In reality, that temporary reprieve had allowed the smarter families, such as the Trebonds, to change their practices and become legitimate business owners, academics, and tradespeople, thereby both preserving their wealth and their lives. Alanna knew well that she was one of those families – the Trebond family tree dated back almost two millennia.

 

The only problem was that, with such complicated family trees, you could have some rather deep-seated feuds in your family line. And by deep, she meant _centuries_ -deep. Combine that with the fencing tendency of one-upping your teammates, and sparks flew. Literally.

 

She considered herself lucky with the sabre group. There was herself, a Trebond. There was Sacherell Wellam, Wyldon Cavall and Padraig haMinch – all staunch conservative houses, much like Trebond. She herself wasn’t conservative, but then again … she hadn’t seen her way clear to announcing that either.

 

That was really what this was about, wasn’t it? Her and her stupid inability to admit shit.

 

Fuck. How the hell was she supposed to get through Recruitment Day without Jon? She sat up, angrily tossing her blankets off, and ran her fingers roughly through her copper curls. She’d gotten a haircut that over the summer – wasn’t there some culture that said that was supposed to help you get over someone? Anyway, it hadn’t worked. Jon was still an ass, and she was still in love with him.

 

She was four years in on the fencing team – one as a first year, one as a junior fencer, just having made the team. Then, just before her third year, receiving the call that changed her life.

 

“Hey, is this Alanna?” he had asked – confidence, that was all him. She didn’t have that, not as much then. He was always behind her.

 

“Yes,” she had replied, surprised. “Who is this?”

 

“Jon, Jon De Conte. You know, from fencing? I know, we’re in different sections – but I was appointed team captain at the end of last year?”

 

“Oh, right,” Alanna had said, assuming that he was calling for a reason relating to practice. “Yeah, I suppose since Wyatt graduated with Robb, sabre doesn’t have a captain either. And you’re both the fencing captain and the foil section captain, am I right?”

 

“Yes, that’s what I was calling about,” Jon had said. “I know this is a lot to ask, but would you be interested in being the fencing captain next year?”

 

Alanna remembered that she had paused, her throat working for a moment. “You mean the sabre section captain?” she had asked finally. “I mean, third-year is pretty young – I understand Kyle isn’t really captain material, but what about Wyldon? He would be good, I think sabre would follow him. He’s strict though.”

 

“No, no, you misunderstood me.” Jon had hastened to correct her. She remembered the eagerness, that slight _huff_ of air, the suggestion of a smile in his voice. “I didn’t say sabre section captain, I said fencing captain. For _all_ of fencing, not just sabre.”

 

Alanna had been speechless for a moment, and then cleared her throat. Once, twice. “Jon,” she had tried to say, but failed. She coughed again, and what ended up coming out was “You have got to be shitting me.”

 

She still remembered his laugh of surprise, deep and musical.

 

“I mean,” she had rushed in saying, “I’m going into _third-year_. I can hardly, I don’t think there’s ever been, it’s not… a third-year captain, and you were already appointed the captaincy at the end of last year. It’s just not done.”

 

“Yes, but I don’t want it,” Jon had said. “I think I’ll be a good section captain, but you know that foil is larger than the other teams, and it’s a handful. But I don’t want the captaincy, and I don’t think I’d be as good at it as you. You’re great, Alanna, and I really think that with you at the helm for three years, fencing will be great. Even as a second-year, you were starting to outplay pretty much everyone in sabre, and you’re hands-down the most dedicated at practice. I checked the attendance records – you haven’t missed a day in two years, and we’ve all seen you running drills or running in the mornings. You work the hardest, and you’re the best captain for the team right now.”

 

“I don’t know…” Alanna had said, skeptical. Even if Jon was listing good reasons, reasons that made sense, there had _never_ been a third-year captain. Not in the entire three-hundred-odd year history of the school. “I’m not _you_ , Jon. People follow _you_.”

 

There had been a silence on the other end. “Alanna,” he had said finally. “I’m going to let you in on a secret. I’m not that good at most things. I’m really only fair to middling at best. Just look at my foil scores – last year I placed seventeenth in division, which isn’t _bad_ , but for someone who has fenced for six years, it’s not outstanding either. What I _am_ good at is knowing what other people will be good at, knowing where to put other people to make the best impact. And you’ll be a good fencing captain. Trust me on this one.”

 

Alanna had thought about it for a minute, two minutes. To his credit, Jon didn’t hang up. She could still remember hearing him fidgeting on the other end, that crinkling sound that periodically invaded her thinking. He had later told her he had been flipping through the team roster, that complex behemoth listing all the team members, their strengths, their weaknesses.

 

“Well… all right,” she had said, giving in. What could she say? This was Jon, and people followed Jon. And if Jon told them to follow her, what was she supposed to say to that?

 

_Fuck this shit_ , Alanna thought, disgusted with herself. She grabbed an elastic from her bedside table and threw her hair up into a ponytail, standing up to look for semi-reasonable clothes she could leave her dorm in.

 

Jon was over, and her team was ready for recruitment day. Sacherell and Wyldon were handling the sabre match, Gary had told her that he and Geoff Meron were up for epee and Jon had assigned the foil match to Imrah Legann and Clara Goodwin. She had her brief comments prepared. A roster to man the tables had been set up. She had absolutely no cause for worry, and she was going to go for a run.

 

Recruitment Day would be fine, with or without him.

 

***

 

“Up! Get UP!” Daine groaned into her pillows as Miri’s voice broke her doze, vaguely recognizing the pounding as someone’s hand on her door. “It’s Recruitment Day! Get up, you’re team captain, Daine, and you _have_ to get up! I’ve been here like five minutes now, I’m getting Sarge!”

 

The problem with open transparency dictating the structure and membership of the archery team was that, sometimes, the best archers weren’t necessarily the best organizers. Daine knew her strengths, and organization, especially around Recruitment Day, was not one of them. “Don’t get Sarge!” she called out, or tried to, because she wasn’t entirely sure if she was talking out loud yet. She rolled over, feeling around on her bedside table for her phone. What time was it, anyway? Seven? Eight?

 

“Daine, get up! It’s almost 9:30 and you’ve got the keys for the storage room! We need to get into it to get the bows we were going to put out on display!” That was Evin’s voice now. “Miri and I are on first shift at the archery booth and we need the bows for our display!”

 

“ _TURN OUT!!”_  The roar was Sarge’s. How had he gotten so _loud?_ Daine groaned again and rolled out of her bed with a thud. Saturday mornings were meant for sleeping in. “Yeah, yeah,” she yelled back. She was lucky – the advantage of open transparency was that, at least, you knew where you stood. Best archers weren’t always the best at everything else, so captain or not, things like Recruitment Day were planned by the people who were best at it. Daine only handled the demonstration half, and that wasn’t until four. She staggered to her feet and opened the door.

 

“Keys?” Miri demanded, holding out a hand. “We have half an hour to set up and we’re already five minutes behind.”

 

 Daine sighed and waved her hand at her desk, and was promptly pushed out of the way as Miri barged in. “Sorry, Miri. Morning, Sarge. Evin.” She leaned against the doorway, yawning.

 

Sarge nodded at her, and if Daine didn’t know him so well she would have thought him angry. After a year of working with him, though, she had come to see that he simply liked the gruff image. “Daine. Ready for the presentation?”

 

“Worry about yourself,” Daine grinned. “You’re the one I’m shooting apples and clown noses off.”

 

***

 

By three that day, Kel was kneeling in the shadows at the edge of the stage pulling her bogu, her armour, on. She didn’t especially need the full half-hour, but after her morning, it was calming.

 

The hall had already been bustling at 9:30 that morning. Although the doors were not formally open for the students until 10, the clubs were permitted to set up early but, as a boarding school, almost all the students were part of one club or another. Effectively, the only students who didn’t have access to the hall by 9:30 were the new first-years.

 

Kel had been put on sports row, a prime location, albeit in a corner furthest from the stage. The fencers had the central location smack-dab between the two entrances to the gym, and three tables – as far as Kel could tell, one for each weapon. Kendo had been placed in the corner closest to the stage, and they had seemed to have had good traffic for the day. A couple teammates had slipped over to say hello over the course of the morning, for which Kel was grateful as she had, unfortunately, not had the best traffic. Rather, most people’s eyes seemed to slide from her neighbours, the archers, directly to the competitive dance team on the other side of her.  

 

The archers were good neighbours to her, although from the stage they were looking rather small and crowded. They were as large as the fencers, but they had rushed in fifteen minutes late that morning. The fencers hadn’t _taken_ their space, per se, just … encroached on it. They were, however, very nice to her – even though the morning pair, Miri and Evin, were kept hopping by the number of interested first years, they still got her a cup of tea during a break run.

 

Between kendo and the fencers sat an empty table. A small card proclaimed that it was meant for the mixed martial arts group, but no one appeared for the club that morning. According to Neal, that was typical – they didn’t solicit. If you were interested, you would find them on your own. But Student Council had traditionally offered them a table anyway, just in case someone, sometime, decided to come.

 

The club presentations had begun at 10 in the morning, short fifteen-minute presentations. Kel had tuned out most of the talks, paying more attention on the people passing her table, but a few clubs stood out – Kel’s sisters were dancers, but the competitive dance team was like nothing she had ever seen. They sold themselves as athletes, and Kel could believe it. The club after them had some song and dance number that was equally impressive, and from the cheers around her it must have been a popular song. There was also a choir, a band, a symphony, art club, theatre, comedy club, debate club… Kel wasn’t able to keep track of it all. The whole school only had about six hundred students, how were there _so many clubs?_

 

By the time Kel had pulled on all of her bogu, she still had time to spare. On stage, the kendo team was already deep into a demonstration of _kirikaeshi_ , an exercise she found very similar to _uchikaeshi_ , except without the _sune_ strikes. The plan after that, Kel knew, was to go into some open matches. Although Raoul had clearly wanted to participate, he had deemed it best if he announced the presentation - a thought that a few kendoka had exchanged uneasy looks over, but who had not wanted to volunteer.

 

He wasn’t doing a bad job of it, though, Kel thought critically. He kept it plain and simple, introducing _kirikaeshi_ as an exercise and for the matches, just providing commentary when needed without embellishment. She hoped she could introduce her club quite as well, considering she would be wearing her men while doing it. An oversight in planning, that, but it wouldn’t be appropriate for someone from another team to introduce the club. It wasn’t ideal, as Neal had pointed out, but there was nothing to be done.

 

Kel stood up, flexing her legs in her corner. An advantage her opponents would have was that they were already warmed up. An advantage she had was that she knew how to move in _suneate_ , and she had time now to watch how her opponents moved and plot strategy. She had longer reach, which was a huge advantage - many experts believed that a naginata, properly wielded, was a complete defense against the sword. Kel, however, preferred Bennett’s position on this one; if the kendoka was prepared for the differences, matches were relatively equal.

 

_Strategy_ , she thought, eyeing the kendo matches with interest. Both Dom and Midori were in the open matches, but it was a shame she wouldn’t be able to watch any of Raoul’s matches. She wasn’t above, say, researching him on YouTube, but she hadn’t had time that week. Either way, she could get some sense of how her other two matches would go.

 

Dom, she could tell, was aggressive – he had a match with Cleon Kennan, the second-year red-head, where he attacked as soon as _hajime,_ start, was called and forcibly pushed him out of the ring. Cleon wasn’t small, either. In light of that, Kel supposed, she would need to be fast and get out of his way – she couldn’t afford to have him in _seriai,_ close-quarters combat. Or, she would need to score before he smashed into her and threw her out of the ring, which she suspected he might do.

 

Midori, on the other hand, had faced off against a senior, Vanget haMinch, with much success. She projected a calm, focused air in her kendo – more often than not, she responded to attacks rather than creating her own opportunities. She was _fast_ , landing a beautiful _do_ , stomach, strike while dodging a _men_ , head, strike that had the judges flags flying up in her favour. On the other hand, Kel thought, Midori had patterns. They were very successful patterns, but patterns nonetheless. She loved the using _do_ at the first sign that her opponent was going for a _men_ , and she loved getting into _seriai_ and using a _hiki-men_ , a head strike while moving backwards rather than forwards. Kel could use that, especially because _do_ strikes were almost never successful in naginata.

 

All too soon, the kendo team had finished and she found herself staring out at a crowded, noisy gymnasium of potential recruits. She had imagined having a powerful, stirring speech that had people lining up to join her club, and then she had remembered herself.

 

“Hello, everyone,” she said instead, “My name is Keladry Mindelan, and I’m restarting the naginata club. I’ve been told that I need to talk for at least a few minutes to let the kendo club put on the rest of their equipment, so I hope you’ll bear with me for a few minutes. Unlike other martial arts, naginata has been developed for the past few centuries to counter a different weapon, the sword. Throughout feudal Japan, the naginata was the women’s weapon of choice, and it is still said that a naginata, properly wielded, is a total defeat for swordsmen. In this challenge, I’m going to prove it to you by winning against three stars from the kendo team, Dominic Masbolle, Midori McCann and of course their team captain, Raoul Dulacdor.”

 

It wasn’t her, she knew. She was nowhere near as cocky as her speech made her out to be. However, Neal had convinced her that her brand of confidence wasn’t going to work to get recruits. Kel’s brand of confidence worked on people who knew her, or people who knew people who knew her, not on a room of strangers who also happened to be teenagers. Teenagers, Neal had explained loftily while rewriting her speech, understood nothing but arrogance and entertainment. She had toned down what he had written (including taking out the mic drop), but it still wasn’t quite her.

 

There wasn’t a formal _shiai-jo_ , court, as there simply hadn’t been enough room on the stage. Naginata _shiai-jo_ were four metres square, the stage slightly less than that. Against Dom, there was no guarantee she wouldn’t go flying off the stage. She took a deep breath and she slid into the start position, _chudan_ , across from his _kamae_ , and felt a rush of tingling energy flood her veins.

 

God, she loved this. She barely noticed Toshuro Akaneru raising the flags to the start position between them, waiting only for the call of _hajime!_ that would begin the match.

 

It came, and when Dom flew at her, his _kiai_ almost louder than could be believed, she was ready. Her hands slipped smoothly from _chudan_ to a _hasso_ and then _sune_ ,as easily as if she were back in her dojo in Japan, or even in the dojo she practiced at in Corus. She saw the strike hit, at the same moment as her own _kiai_ rang in her ears, and she retreated immediately into a defensive _chudan_ position – unlike in kendo, in naginata there was no point unless you successfully retreated to a defensive position. It was referred to as _zanshin_ , meaning a position of relaxed alertness.

 

“ _Sune-ari!_ ” she heard the point called the moment Dom smashed into her. Kel pushed him off her, as he retreated back to the start position.

 

“ _Nihonme!”_ The second part of the match was, for Kel, the harder part because she had already scored a point, and she had scored it early. Matches only went three minutes, and she had scored in the first five seconds of it, so at bare minimum she would need to hold him off for the next two minutes and fifty-five seconds or so. Dom, on the other hand, needed to score a point to keep her from winning, and therefore, he could be desperate. On the other hand, he had almost the whole match to catch up, so perhaps he would strategize and take his time …

 

Nope, she realized when he flew again at her. He was big, and he was strong, but he didn’t have any idea how to handle her weapon. He made no attempt to guard his _sune_ , so Kel suspected he hadn’t learned the stances to guard against them. Kendo, as usually practiced, used only one stance, which they called _kamae_. By comparison, naginata had four: _chudan-ni-kamae, hasso-ni-kamae, gedan-ni-kamae_ and _wakigamae_.

 

Too late. While she was thinking, she had lost her opening. He was already too close for her to execute a defensive strike. She needed to get out of the way, get some space for herself, and find an opening. She side-stepped, whirled to face him and retreated to his corner of the shiai-jo, making space with her _chudan_. He was wary now, knowing he had lost the advantage given by her indecision, and stopped just outside the range of her weapon, and waited, still, in _kamae_.

 

Kel stared into his _men_. He didn’t have time. For him, he had to attack or he would lose the match. She could outwait him. Seconds ticked by.

 

She saw the moment he realized he needed to attack, and reacted before he had a chance to attack with a short s _une_ strike – different than the _hasso sune_ strike she had executed earlier, smaller and faster. She saw the strike hit, and retreated. It hadn’t been as clean as her first hit, she knew – her strike had slipped a bit on his _suneate_ – but Dom fumbled with uncertainty in reaction to her attack and she knew she had him.

 

“ _Sune-ari!_ ” she heard the judges call the point, and she and Dom exchanged spots to their initial starting points. The head judge, _shushin_ , waved his flag to her side and called the match, _shobu-ari_ , before allowing Dom to bow out of the _shiai-jo_. In a normal match, both Kel and her opponent would have bowed out simultaneously, but as Kel was in for two more rounds she would stay in the ring as Midori bowed into the makeshift court.

 

They bowed to each other and settled into _kamae_ and _chudan_ respectively. Midori, Kel knew, would be a harder fight than Dom, in part because Dom had flown in blind. The kendo team had now had a chance to see her techniques and fighting style and would be better prepared.

 

_“Hajime!_ ”

 

Midori immediately switched to a different stance – the kendo version of _gedan-no-kamae_ , unless Kel was mistaken, which guarded her suneate. It was a clever move, but it left her _men_ wide open, and Kel took the opportunity. Midori moved faster, though, and Kel felt her shinai smack against her shins just as her strike connected.

 

You _never_ reacted or stopped moving until the judges called the point, though, so Kel followed her strike with a second _hasso men_ strike, just as the point was called.

 

“ _Sune-ari!_ ”

 

Kel sighed, taking in a long breath. It had been worth a shot, but one point against her was one point against her. She had to be more careful – she hadn’t thought Midori would reconfigure her kendo strategies for _sune_ strikes.

“ _Nihonme!_ ”

 

Kel stared at Midori, thinking. Midori, unlike many kendoka, seemed content to take her time – which she could afford to do, having an advantage. Kel had to move – without a second point, she wouldn’t be able to push Midori into _encho_ , overtime, and would lose the match, which would only be to the worse for the naginata club. She had to do _something_ to get Midori moving, and blind attacking was probably not the route to go. By even going into _gedan_ , Midori has shown considerable expertise in kendo – certainly Midori started kendo before coming to Crown Academy, and probably had practiced for many years.

 

_Time to change it up._ Kel slipped her naginata into _wakigamae_ , a stance where her blade faced away from her opponent and left her almost completely open. Kendo had very little use for _wakigamae_ , it being particularly useful only if one’s blade was of unusual length, but the stance was required in naginata for _do_ strikes. Midori took the bait and charged, and Kel whipped the naginata around to strike her _sune_. She felt the solid connection and moved for _zanshin_.

 

“ _Sune-ari!”_  

 

Two points up, they were tied and Kel had no idea how much time was left. She was conscious she was breathing hard at this point, so she needed to finish this and finish it _fast_. She still had a match left with Raoul and she was feeling wiped. She used to think she could just train herself out of this, but time and effort had made her realize she would _always_ work a little above her capacity, she would _always_ push herself harder in a match and she would _always_ be tired after a couple matches.

 

_“Shobu!_ ” she heard the start signal, and like Dom in her first match, she flew at Midori, executing a short _men_ strike followed by a second _sune_ strike moving backwards. Midori, caught slightly unawares, landed a _men_ strike that was too deep on the _shinai_ and a _hiki-men_ strike that was too late.

 

“ _Sune-ari!_ ” Kel breathed a soft sigh of satisfaction, and slid back to her start position. “ _Shobu-ari_.” Kel bowed politely to Midori, and she exited the ring. Raoul stood calmly at the side, ready to enter the ring as she left, and Kel did a double-take.

 

_Oh, hell. They were holding out on me._ For Raoul was carrying two swords, the long shinai and a short one. _Nito-ryu_. She didn’t know very much about it and hadn’t thought to look up any matches online to prepare because _nito_ was generally used by very experienced and strong kendoka – she hadn’t thought anyone at Crown Academy would be studying it yet. She was far more prepared for someone to bring out the _jodan_ fighting style, where the shinai was held in _jodan-no-kamae_ , over one’s head, but _nito-ryu_ hadn’t even occurred to her.

 

_Think_ , she demanded of herself as she bowed to Raoul and stepped into _chudan_. _Nito_. _What do you know about it? First principles – two swords. One is longer than the other, obviously. Usually trained by older, experienced kendoka. Strength would be required to effectively wield the long sword one-handed. What about stance?_

 

Raoul had adopted what Kel guessed was a modified _jodan-no-kamae –_ his long sword was held in a threatening position over his head, while the short sword was held in front of him, blocking his body. _Hajime_ was called, but Kel stayed in her defensive _chudan_ even whilst Raoul let out a threatening _kiai_. Despite the menacing tone, he didn’t make a move towards her, studying her just as intently as she was scrutinizing him.

 

_He’s hesitating,_ she realized, and told herself to focus. A wrench in the plans, that was fine. This was just another match, and _he still didn’t have her reach and still wasn’t blocking his sune_. And with that, Kel had him.

 

Unlike with Dom, Kel didn’t transition for _hasso_ _sune_ , preferring this time for the smaller, faster short _sune_ strike. Her naginata moved like a viper, a move she had practiced dozens of times in the dojo, and rapped on his open sune before her _zanshin_. Even though Raoul moved to block, he was too late and she knew then that even if Raoul might have trained _nito_ somewhere, he had not done it for long and didn’t do it as well as standard kendo. Which made sense, because _nito_ was only done by very experienced kendoka, and by that she meant _decades-of-training_ kendoka.

 

_“Sune-ari!_ ”

 

The judges called the point, and Kel could see Raoul’s curses silently flying over his face. Like in _naginata_ , bad sportsmanship in kendo was strictly not allowed. There had been a major kendo competition a few years back where the championship point in the final match had been revoked because the winner had _fistpumped_.

“ _Nihonme!_ ” Kel heard the judges call, and, flush with her previous success, was promptly caught unprepared as Raoul charged, his _kiai_ almost louder than possible, and swamped her. She reached for the _sune_ point, knowing she would be caught too deep, only to find his short sword trapping her naginata low to the floor and his long sword thudded a strong _men_ point on her head.

_“Men-ari!”_ she heard the call, and she shook her head free of stars while returning to her start position. _Don’t get cocky_ , she chided herself. _Maybe his nito-ryu isn’t perfect, but it’s more than adequate to let him win._

“ _Shobu!_ ”

Raoul charged again, but this time Kel was ready. She sidestepped for another _sune_ strike, but was too close and no point was called. Raoul pivoted, going after her again and Kel was quickly trapped into _seri-ai_ , close-quarters combat, but at least this time her naginata was properly positioned and blocking her head, which certainly didn’t stop him from trying for a _men_ point. It didn’t work – too close, she supposed, head spinning slightly from the impact as she pulled back at the same moment and went for a _sune_.

 

Still too close, or even if it wasn’t, no point was called. She retreated back into _chudan_ , but was there for barely a second before Raoul charged again. She spotted the movement his short sword this time just before he trapped her naginata, pulled into a _hasso_ position and went for his _men_.

 

She was in luck – her naginata collided solidly and she did her _zanshin_ , conveniently and unintentionally moving to a back corner of the limited stage, where she could see that a fair number of Crown Academy’s students were avidly watching her beat up the kendo team. Even more luckily, although Raoul took advantage of her momentary distraction to land another crushing blow to her head, two of the three judges had decided her men point was, indeed, a point. The third, Aiden, was resolutely waving his flags in a crossing pattern below his waist, signalling no point.

 

“ _Men-ari!_ ” Toshuro, the head judge, called. Kel shoved Raoul politely off of her, returning to her start position. “ _Shobu-ari_!” They bowed to each other and Raoul grinned sheepishly, giving her a nod of reluctant admiration. Kel bowed to him in response – unrequired, but the least she could do. It had been a good match. Kel exited the shiai-jo from the other side and quickly pulled off her _men_ as the judges bowed to each other, rolled up their flags and ceremoniously left the stage.

 

Kel was dripping with sweat, but at that moment, her adrenaline was too high for her to care as she turned and addressed the crowd. She mentally tossed the rest of Neal’s planned speech, it being a little too pompous and long for her current condition, stating simply: “So. Join naginata. We’ll train hard, but it’ll be worth it.”

 

By the end of the day, Kel had found herself four recruits: a determined second-year named Fianola Linnshart, her first-year sister Sorcha Linnshart, their friend Yvenne Arondel and a shy first-year named Prosper Tameran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking by me, folks! I know this is much longer than the 2 weeks promised - all I can say is, life is busy with work and I was training for Worlds (which I really was doing all last years but when you have the World Championship looming over you, it starts actually hitting that you're going to Worlds!). Congratulations are extended to the Japanese team, who won every division, and to the French, Belgian, American and Canadian teams that made a valiant attempt at shaking them off their podium. Also, Worlds was awesome.
> 
> I don't know when the next chapter will be posted, but rest assured I am still having fun with this world I have created and want to explore both Alanna and Daine's stories next! And I have promised school dances. There must be wonderful and awkward teenage dances!
> 
> As always, I appreciate your comments and constructive criticism, and would love a beta to come on board, especially one with in depth knowledge of fencing and fencing culture so I don't have to try to look it up on the internet.


	5. Fencing Tryouts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alanna deals with fencing tryouts, Jon, and Thom.

The first practice of the fencing season was always the most crowded. Fencing this year had scraped together 22 recruits – just average. The recruits were not the reason the salle was crowded, for the foil team regularly had that many practicing together without a problem. Really, the main issue was that everyone else on the fencing team, and she did mean _everyone_ else, had shown up as well. They stood to either side of the beginner group, none of them not carrying their blades – the salle was far too small to have all 60, team members and recruits, practicing together.

 

Team members were not required to come to this practice, but there was no surprise in their attendance anyway, Alanna mused. Being that fencing was practically Tortall’s national sport, and being that it was primarily practiced by the former nobility and current upper class (two groups that intersected but were not mutually exclusive), most of the candidates were known to team members in some way or another. Alanna herself, she could spot familiar faces and names on the recruitment list: Aili, Nicoline, Carmine, Tasride, Kendrach, Blythdin, Hollyrose … She even spotted someone who could only be a Smythesson in the crowd, her marked similarity to her three siblings, standing with the fencing team, making identification easy.

 

Her current team members, although seemingly randomly dispersed on either side of the beginning group, had self-segregated into weapon groups – typical fencing behaviour. Her sabreurs stood closest to her on her left, and Alanna smiled inwardly at last year’s survivors, Neal Quinn-Cohen and Deirdre Meag standing with them.

 

“Good evening, everyone,” Alanna began, “and welcome to fencing. You all know why you are here, and you all know what comes next – your brothers and sisters and cousins have told you, or your friends. Be warned – you will not make the team by virtue of your name alone.” Alanna looked over the new recruits with a stern eye – already, she could see two boys whispering together in the back, hardly paying attention. Fortunately, the rest of the recruits seemed to listening.

 

“My name is Alanna Trebond, and I’m the Fencing Captain. Standing with me in front of you are your three section captains: Jon De Conte, Foil Section Captain; Gary Naxen, Epee Section Captain; and Wyldon Cavall, Sabre Section Captain.” Although her fencing captaincy had come with the sabre section captaincy, the first thing Alanna had done as fencing captain was separate her two roles. She had quite enough to do bureaucratically, from settling section disputes over practice time, arranging tournament transportation and working with the section chiefs on training the recruits to handle all of the sabre training. Wyldon had been more than happy to step in; stoic and strict he might be, but he kept the sabreurs on track.

 

“For the ones among you that are true beginners to fencing, you will work with all four of us. Some of you, I can tell, have already trained – you will work directly with your sections and your section captain will provide me feedback for you. Those of you who are true beginners, don’t worry – we look at far more than previous experience when we make our choices. We look at fit, hard work, at willingness to take criticism, at willingness to learn and to work with your teammates. Some of you who have already trained elsewhere _will_ find yourself culled from the team, so don’t get cocky.”

 

A couple members of the foil team smiled at the last remark – Maura Dunlath and Yancen Irenroha, if Alanna wasn’t mistaken. Both Maura and Yancen had been excellent beginners last year and had easily surpassed some of the more experienced tryouts, Garvey Runnerspring and Vinson Genlith coming directly to mind. Alanna was surprised the two of them had even returned to Crown Academy for second year, since most of the more experienced fencers tended to go elsewhere after failing to make the Crown Academy team. Then again, both Vinson and Garvey came from extremely conservative families and had gone to Tortallan-dominant primary schools – it was unlikely either could speak English well enough to do well at another high school.

 

Vinson hadn’t even made it through the year before Gary had come to her and quietly mentioned that Elenna Smythesson, at the time a second year, had made a complaint about his behaviour in practice. Evidently, Vinson had not liked some of the suggestions Elenna had made to improve his fencing, and had reacted by telling her she was better off on her knees … servicing him, to put it politely. Alanna had booted him off before the night was over, experienced epeeist or not.

 

Garvey, on the other hand, had been a good foilist, but too arrogant. He had simply taken his skill for granted and hadn’t come to practice often enough. It was easy for her, and for Jon, to see that Maura, Yancen and several others would surpass him in skill before three years were through. His competition scores had been mediocre, not enough to bring him to the top of the list.

 

“Those of you, who have previously fenced, please step forward and identify yourselves, with your weapon.” Most of those students were already identifiable, unless Alanna missed her guess; the ones who had already fenced were the ones in fencing jackets and carrying masks and blades. A handful of the recruits stepped forward, only one of which – the Smythesson girl – was dressed in normal gym clothes.

 

“Alinna Smythesson.” Even without her fencing jacket, the redhead had confidence streaming from her every move. With two sisters and a brother who had already made the team, she had good reason – the Smythessons, while not a historical noble house, were a highly decorated military family. Alanna would place money that she had trained since she was young, if only with her brother and sisters. Her siblings had clearly already explained to her how the first practice went and the usual way to get onto the team: Work hard. Attend all practices you can. Don’t be an ass. “Sabre.”

 

“Warric Mandash,” a short, stocky boy spoke up next. “And this is my cousin, Iden Vikison. We play epee.” His cousin, taller by a half a head and lanky, nodded. It was unusual for someone as stocky as Warric to play epee, but then, judging by his cousin’s height, he might grow into it. If so, he would be a danger.

 

“Balduin Disart, sabre.” Balduin was the tallest of the recruits. Early growth spurt, Alanna guessed. He was followed immediately by a lithe boy who said confidently, “Derrick Carmine, epee.” Standing beside them was a blonde girl, her foil held loosely in one hand. “Christine Rosemark, foil. I’m boring like that.”

 

The last girl was smaller than the others, but had a fire in her face Alanna recognized. Though on second thought, Alanna realized that she recognized more than that; she had seen those eyebrows, that chin somewhere before. She flicked her eyes over to Wyldon just to be sure, but yes, there it was. “Margarry Cavall,” the girl said, frowning at Christine. “I play foil and I don’t think it’s boring at all.”

 

The blonde was taken aback, but smiled easily, visibly brushing it off. “Just a joke, Margarry.”

 

“Hmm,” Margarry responded, unconvinced. Clearly there was something going on here beyond what the girls were saying. Alanna quickly ran through all she knew about feuds in the Tortallan nobility, both past and present, but didn’t find anything important or elucidating.

 

_Whatever,_ she thought determinedly. They were foil, so Jon would take responsibility for them. He would come and talk to her if it was a problem, and that was a bridge she would face when she came to it. The way he was flaunting himself around with that girl from theatre club, she was making a point of avoiding him whenever possible.

 

“Thank you,” she said to the recruits who had come forward. “You will be training with the regular team throughout the year, and your section chief will keep an eye on you. You will also be competing at all major competitions with the team, and your competition scores will be considered when we make our final decisions. As for the beginners, again, I want to emphasize that experience and competition scores are not the only qualities we look for, and if you do well in practice you will make the team – even if it means we cut someone who is more experienced.”

 

“Now, practice schedules. Monday, Thursday and Saturday nights, from eight until ten, is formal beginner practice. Beginners learn on foil. You will be allowed to try epee and sabre in the second half of the year, if that section captain gives you permission.  If you are interested in either epee or sabre, we recommend you attend some of those practices before seeking permission. Foilists – Foil practice happens Tuesday and Friday, from seven until ten. Epeeists, your practices this year are set for Sundays from one until four in the afternoon, and Thursdays from four until seven, and sabreurs, practice will be Wednesdays from seven until ten and Saturdays from four to seven. The fencing salle is open from six-thirty every morning until eleven every night and you may do free practice anytime there is no team practice happening. Team members are expected to go to the gym and work out on top of attending regular practice. The first competition is in October, and I expect everyone to be back in shape for it.”

 

Alanna took a deep breath and cast one last look over her team, and nodded once, sharply. “I’m looking forward to seeing the results of your hard work.”

 

The end of her speech being clear, team members began filtering out the doors, Alanna joining them. She and her section captains had already set up a training schedule for the beginners by email, and Alanna could see that Jon was calling the beginners around him to demonstrate footwork. He had matters well in hand, and that was all Alanna needed to know. They had pulled off Recruitment Day and first practice with a minimum of direct communication, much to her satisfaction.

 

As she left, Alanna quietly noted that only three of the more experienced recruits had remained for beginner lessons. Alinna was no doubt expecting it, having been forewarned by her siblings, but Balduin and Margarry had stayed as well. It was smart, and an easy weeding tool – the beginners who took the initiative to ask if they could attend additional practice and actually attended additional practice were the ones who were dedicated to fencing, the ones who were willing to put in the work and effort to make and stay on the team. Less than an hour into the first practice, they were already frontrunners for the team.

 

xxx

 

Alanna had expected whispers to follow her when she came back to school, but the expectation did not make it any easier. They followed her everywhere: in the hallways between class, in the cafeteria, even walking to and from practice. She had already become accustomed to shooting students the Look whenever she caught them at it, but to little avail – even if they stopped in front of her, she knew they were talking about it elsewhere. It didn’t help that Jon had already moved on to Josiane Rittevon, that complete and utter ninny. She flattered herself by considering that Jon was simply rebounding onto a person who was her complete opposite in every way: tall, blonde, willowy, and stupid.

 

It also didn’t help that whenever Alanna was nearby, that ninny inevitably took it on herself to speak a decibel or two higher, phrases like “Jon said….” and “Jon believes…” and “Jon thinks…” coming out, in an annoying and frankly bizarre attempt at showing how close she and Jon were. She sounded like an idiot.

 

It was embarrassing, it was, Alanna contemplated while opening her books in the safety of her dorm room. Her room, cluttered but comfortable from three years of living, was one of the few places she was left alone. Jon and Alanna, Alanna and Jon… it was just embarrassing how much of their lives had twined together last year. They worked together on the fencing team, they practiced together as much as they could, Alanna had even picked up a foil for the first time in years to work with him on his form. In return, he helped her with her homework – she didn’t need it, not _really_ , but it was nice to have him around nonetheless. They had eaten together with friends, gone on trips together on holidays, even slept together … having Jon _there_ , at school with her and not being with him was a stab in her … well, not heart, that was far too clichéd. A stab in her _eyes_ , more like.

 

Put simply, it sucked. It sucked even more because, due to their social standing, everyone else in the damn school was _fascinated_ by it.

 

At least, she thought savagely, opening her advanced algebra textbook with a thump, her own social standing was just as high as Jon’s. Yes, Jon was the sole heir to the Conte Group, but Alanna had Trebond Enterprises behind her – only one of Tortall’s wealthiest private corporations. Even if some fencers went with Jon and barely spoke to her anymore, her own background meant they either could not or would not speak openly against her. There was speculation, yes, but no rumours. More than half of the fencing team had chosen not to be involved at all and simply refused to let politics dictate who they spoke to or where they sat. Some few had even, bizarrely enough, quietly backed her. Alanna had no idea what they thought happened, because she sure as hell hadn’t said anything to most of them. _Josiane_ , that nitwit, had no such fallback.

 

“Don’t be jealous,” Daine had told her over lunch sternly, after catching Alanna glaring daggers at the royal table. “It’s unbecoming, and it’s playing right into her hands. Just go on with life as normally as you can.”

 

That was something else Alanna had over Jon, she supposed. She was friends, or friendly, with the sort of people that Jon and his friends tended to overlook – people like Daine. It was remarkable, really, what a change two years had brought to her friend. When Daine had arrived, a scholarship student out of the Tortallan foster care system, her hair was dyed black, her face fixed into a never-ending scowl. She had nearly failed out that first year; apparently, rural Tortallan public schools were not strong academically. She _would_ have failed out had she not done so unbelievably well in competition that year, her excellent archery standing pushing the administration to finding her extra help in the second term. No less a person than Numair Salmalin, the school’s eccentric but brilliant chemistry professor, had been asked to tutor her. Two years on, though, Daine’s hair had grown out to its natural light brown, her smiles were easy and her grades had pulled up to solid … average.

 

“How long is this going to go on?” Alanna had replied, exasperated. “I thought, a month on our ancestral estates in the middle of mountains would fix it, but now I’m back and it’s … _this._ ” She had waved her hands, adequate words to describe her feelings failing her.

 

Daine had shrugged. “Until it stops. I wouldn’t put a time limit on it, especially because you and Jon were _intense_.Also, seriously, shut up about your ancestral estates or I’ll revoke your not-a-privileged-ass card.”

 

Alanna sighed, beginning to work through her problem set. Really, that, in a nutshell, was why she and Jon did not work out. Jon was a privileged ass. She wasn’t – she was privileged, yes, but not a privileged _ass_ and that made all the difference. It wasn’t that Jon intended on being a privileged ass, it was just that he assumed everyone had the same opportunities that he had and that everyone, if they just worked hard enough, would have everything he had by default. Alanna didn’t agree, and an invitation over the summer to an extremely exclusive resort for the ultra-wealthy had devolved into a vicious argument involving the words “privilege”, “systemic barriers”, “social inequality” and “justice” and ended with the words “if that’s what you really think of me, then I think we’re done.”

 

Sometimes Alanna had regretted it. Even if Jon could be oblivious about the kind of opportunities he had had that most didn’t, for the most part he handled it well. It wasn’t like he was running around shoving his wealth and status in everyone’s face. And in some ways, he was right – she came from exactly the same kind of privileged background that he did. If it weren’t for the fact that Trebond was a historically conservative house and she was a Trebond _girl_ , she might not be so sensitive to these issues either.

 

Most of the time, she didn’t. Jon was an ass.

 

She heard the door to her room open, and knew who it was without turning. Only one person would ever enter her room without knocking; even Jon, at the height of their romance, had never dared.

 

“Brooding, sister dearest?”

 

“Probably a little too much,” Alanna muttered, finishing the problem she was working on before bothering to look at him. “What do you want, Thom?”

 

Although the resemblance had lessened over time, she and Thom still looked hauntingly alike – they had the same shock of curly red hair, similar facial structure, the same odd blue-gray eyes that were sometimes mistaken for violet. Regretfully, she thought, he had hit his growth spurt a year or so ago and was now half a head taller than her, and she had filled out a little more, so they could no longer trade places. Not that she thought there was anything she could convince him to trade places with her for anymore, not like when they were children.

 

“I can say something to him, you know,” Thom said loftily, dropping himself into the overstuffed armchair Alanna had managed to squeeze into her room. “I’m the sole heir to Trebond Enterprises, after all, and I absolutely will pull our investments from Conte Group for you. That is how much I love you.”

 

Alanna rolled her eyes at him. “No thanks, Thom. I can take care of myself.”

 

“That’s too bad,” Thom sighed dramatically. “I was looking forward to playing the overprotective big brother for you. You should start seeing someone else – it would show everyone you moved on, that whatever Jon is doing with that Rittevon dunce isn’t affecting you. How about Wyldon Cavall? He’s solid, comes from a good family.”

 

“Ugh.” Alanna made a face. “That’s disgusting. God, no.”

 

“No, you’re right, since this would be entirely for show, Wyldon would be an awful choice. Even if he agreed, he would become too serious about it all too quickly,” Thom replied, nodding at his own reasoning. “It has to be someone agreeable, maybe even someone outlandish. How about George Cooper? Suitably rough around the edges, but anyone can tell that he’s going to be successful. He only needs some seed money.” Thom paused, thinking. Evidently his summers at Trebond Enterprises, while Alanna was left to her own devices at their ancestral estates, had taught him valuable skills in the field of, as Alanna referred to it, evaluating people’s crazy ideas and deciding whether they were worth money. “Hell, I might invest in whatever he comes up with even if you don’t date him.”

 

“Eugh. How about you _don’t_ plan my next relationship, Thom?” Alanna retorted, throwing her pen at him. It had long since stopped bothering her that Thom, as the _boy_ , would be the sole heir to Trebond Enterprises, the family’s incredibly successful venture capital firm. Yes, Alanna technically owned a quarter of the shares and would inherit another quarter after her father’s passing, but she was expected to sell her shares on marriage. Once, when she was twelve, Alanna had dared to ask what would happen if she never married. Her father had frowned at her and simply said, _of course you will marry. What else would you do?_

 

Sometimes, she hated her family.

 

Thom smiled suddenly, leaning back in her armchair and stretching his arms out behind him.  Her brother was like that; arrogant, surprisingly flippant sometimes, slightly unpredictable. If she had any real stake in Trebond Enterprises, she would have worried about it in his hands. “All right, then. You’re the same as George, you know. Whatever you choose to do, you’ll be successful at it – and because I love you, if you still have your shares when Father passes, I’ll force through a resolution to let you keep them. How was fencing tryouts?”

 

“The usual. Pretty good crop this year – another Smythesson and a Cavall, both of whom look like strong contenders. It’s too early to tell, though, you know that.” Alanna smirked. “And how’s the piano? You were with Father all summer, did he figure it out yet?”

 

Thom laughed out loud, a short, cruel laugh. “I don’t think so. Father is ridiculously short-sighted about things he doesn’t find important, which unfortunately includes you and I. And lest you think Father cares more for me than he does you, I would suggest you consider that I spent the entire summer trailing various business development associates and had dinner with him all of… once.”

 

“I think Father has figured it out but doesn’t care enough to say anything,” Alanna replied thoughtfully. “There was that article about me in _Tortall Today_ last year.  And surely one of the assistants or nannies he sent to watch your recitals or my competitions spilled the beans at some point.”

 

“Unlikely,” Thom waved off her objection. “If Father figured it out, he would have taken his head out of his reports and said something to us, I think. And then there is the fact that at dinner, he asked me about fencing.”

 

“And what did you say?” Alanna raised an eyebrow.

 

When they were nine, Father had visited home, the ancestral estates of Trebond where all Trebonds grew up. He had called them into his office, and told them that it was high time they began doing extra-curricular activities. Thom would fence, and Alanna would play the piano, as was proper for descendants of the ancient nobility. The twins’ nannies had access to a fund to pay for the costs and would take them to their lessons beginning that week. He had to return to Corus that day, and there was no need for discussion.

 

“He doesn’t want to be around us. He doesn’t care what _we_ want _,_ ” Thom had muttered rebelliously. Of the two of them, he was the less daring, less risky one. He was the one on the ground below, threatening to call Maude, while Alanna explored the ruined battlements that surrounded their home.

 

“We _know_ that,” Alanna had replied impatiently. “He doesn’t care about anything except the business. At least you get to do something interesting, instead of _piano_ , could he be any _less_ creative?”

 

“I don’t want to learn fencing,” Thom had moaned. “It’s a completely _useless_ skill. I don’t want to swing at idiots with a metal stick, I hate falling down and trying to whack things, it’s barbaric. Piano is not so bad, at least you can do that alone. I’d rather play the piano.”

 

Alanna’s eyes had lit up. “Hey,” she had said, smacking him on the arm, the spark of an idea in her head. “Hey, maybe we can switch. I mean, tell our nannies that Father said _I_ was to fence and _you_ were to play piano, it would cost Father the same either way. Or just that one of us had to fence and the other had to do piano, that would work too.”

 

“Really?” Thom had asked skeptically. “Don’t you think Father would have told them who was to take each lesson? We look alike, but not _that_ alike, we can’t pull off a trade for that long.”

 

“I don’t think we have to,” Alanna had replied excitedly, thinking it over again. “No, I really don’t think we have to, because I’ll bet Father gave his instructions to Maude and Lucy in Tortallan. Father hardly ever speaks English anymore, you know how he thinks we need to preserve our heritage. And you know Maude and Lucy don’t speak Tortallan very well, they’re from Ireland. I bet we can convince them that they misunderstood Father’s directions.”

 

“I don’t know…” Thom had hesitated.

 

“Come on, it’s worth a try!” Alanna had jumped up and pulled her brother at a run, looking for Maude. “If it doesn’t work, no loss, right? But if it does…”

 

In hindsight, Alanna wasn’t sure that she and Thom had actually managed to fool Maude and Lucy or if their nannies had just felt so sorry for them they made the switch anyway. Everyone knew that Alan Trebond, CEO extraordinaire of Trebond Enterprises, had practically ignored the children their whole lives and in most ways, Maude and Lucy _were_ their parents. Maude and Lucy would have known that Thom wasn’t cut out for fencing any more than Alanna was for fencing. And so, Alanna had started fencing, and Thom had dutifully taken her lessons in piano.

 

Seven years later, Alanna was the youngest captain that Crown Academy Fencing had in a century, a rising star on the national fencing stage and, if things went well this year, the youngest appointment onto the Tortallan national team. And Thom, while he would never be a famed classical pianist and in fact had no interest in being such, locked himself in music rooms for hours at a time playing like a madman when he needed to think.

 

It was a bit late to do anything about it even if Alan Trebond did find out.

 

“I told him fencing was going swimmingly, and kept it at that,” Thom said. “Why disturb him if he doesn’t care to find out on his own? Literally, all he has to do is type in the words ‘Trebond’ and ‘Fencing’ into a search engine and he’ll figure it out. Or maybe he could have found out years ago if he had bothered to come to any of our events. We don’t exactly keep it a secret. He only asked because he had no idea what else to say to me.”

 

Alanna snorted. He was right on that point, on the secret part. Other than that initial lie, Alanna and Thom had done absolutely nothing to obscure the truth of things. It was _embarrassing_ , how little either of them had to do to keep matters concealed from Father. Lucy and Maude were the ones who went to their competitions, their recitals. Alanna had sobbed into Maude’s shoulder the first time she lost a competition (which was, frankly, her first competition), and Lucy had fixed her up after all of her fencing injuries. Lucy had spoken to Thom after that disastrous recital where he froze on stage and couldn’t play anything at the age of thirteen (certainly nothing that would happen now), and Maude had defended him from the other children that dared to _laugh_ at him for it. Hell, everyone in the world knew now that Alanna fenced and Thom played the piano, and for them, that was that.

 

“So what are you here for, anyway?” Alanna asked, finally. “Are you just here to taunt me about Jon and gossip about Father?” Even if the words were harsh, her tone was not. Thom was her brother, her twin, the constant friend and ally she had had since forever. She let him get away with more things than anyone, things she would have roasted Jon or Daine over.

 

“I’m your brother. Can’t I just have a friendly visit?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for following so far! I'm especially happy that I have had no complaints about there being too much terminology - at my club, we give beginners handouts including the language, which I call "dojo Japanese" because most commands and concepts are still rendered in the original Japanese.
> 
> From here on out, this fic will not follow an exact plot-line - perspectives will switch between Kel, Alanna and Daine (and if I can work it in, there will be an appearance from Aly too! She's around at school, I swear!), and each one has their own story to tell.
> 
> Q: So wait, what is Tortallan and what language is everyone speaking anyway?
> 
> A: As noted two chapters ago, I decided Tortall is somewhere in Europe. Hence, language policies are somewhat like Europe - Tortall has its own language, Tortallan, which is a topic-prominent, SVO language with five grammatical cases and six verb tenses and is a language isolate (i.e. unrelated to other languages). Grammatically, it's structured like a cross between Hungarian and Latin - meaning it's fairly difficult for non-Tortallans to learn. Tortallans are required to take English in schools and most become fairly fluent, but some more conservative families, in an effort to preserve Tortallan culture, send their children to "Tortallan-dominant" schools with lesser English requirements. The Tortallan educational curriculum also includes a second foreign language requirement but exemptions are easily obtained.
> 
> Which language each character speaks depends on circumstance - for example, because of her background, Kel speaks Japanese and Tortallan fluently and speaks English fairly well, but her written Tortallan is weak because she just spoke it at home while she was abroad. Neal speaks Tortallan and English fluently (as he grew up in a liberal family in the capital), and French fairly well. Kel and Neal speak Tortallan to each other, but because of her weakness in writing she may write notes to him in English. Etc. Generally, unless it's important, I won't note what language characters are speaking.


	6. Side Story 1: The Trebond Fencing Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Alanna's first teacher, Coram Smythesson would never call her a fencing prodigy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side story update in honour of this week's World Fencing Championships in Moscow! And, as requested in the comments, here is Coram!

Chapter 5.5: Sidestory

 

_Rising Stars of National Fencing_

_Much attention has been paid in recent weeks to the Tortallan team selections for the the 2015 World Fencing Championships in Moscow, Russia. And for good reason – selections include a number of new faces, such as Nomalla Halleburn, who has nipped at the heels of older fencers for years, and Alexander Tirragen, a new Crown Academy graduate nominated onto the men’s epee team. Older faces include Gershom Haryse, making his bid for his second Olympic Games, and Amda Korpita, who took third place in women’s epee at the 2014 Championship in Kazan, Russia._

_But as we all know, the world of fencing is tough. There is always someone coming up through the ranks, someone ready to take his or her spot on the team. When looking towards tomorrow’s stars, we need look no farther than Crown Academy, our nation’s historical entry point for young fencers. With a team ranging forty-strong, not including the notoriously brutal recruitment process for first-years, practices seven days a week and access to Tortall’s largest dedicated fencing salle, it is little surprise that it has been nearly forty years since a non-Crown Academy graduate made the Tortallan national team. Tortall Today was at the National Juniors last week and here are our picks for the 2016 Olympics and beyond._

_Alanna Trebond (sabre): Yes, that Trebond. Don’t be fooled by her size – although she stands only five foot four, this sabre prodigy is poised to take international fencing by storm. The youngest captain of the Crown Academy team in a century, Alanna began her fencing career at the recognized Trebond Fencing Club under former Olympian Coram Smythesson, now Commander Smythesson of the Trebond Military Base, and started her rampage through the ranks at the age of twelve. Keep an eye on this one – if Tortall has a chance at Olympic gold in women’s sabre, it rests on Miss Trebond’s shoulders._

_Daran Smythesson (foil), Rose Smythesson (foil), Elenna Smythesson (epee): Having Coram Smythesson for a father must provide some advantage, in practice if not in natural talent. Daran, on foil, finished the fencing season at a closely contested third, while Rose brought home second. Elenna, on epee, took the first in women’s individual epee._

_[…]_

_Tortall Today, May 4, 2015_

Commander Smythesson closed the magazine and, with a snort, flipped it onto one of the chairs across from his desk at the Trebond Military Base. They made it sound like magic, with words like _natural talent_ and _prodigy_. No, as he well knew, fencing did not come naturally for Alanna, or for his children. What fencing talent came down to, he always said, was three things: Discipline. Hard work. Good partners.

 

He still remembered when Alanna had first come to the Trebond Fencing Club. She had been a tiny red-headed scrap of a thing, with a temper to match. He had raised an eyebrow at her appearance –somehow, he hadn’t thought that Alan Trebond, known conservative, would have put his only daughter into _fencing_ , of all things. It might have been the sport of nobility and the upper class, but it was not that of noble _women_ or upper-class _women_. Although some more liberal noble houses such as Seabeth, Seajen and Halleburn had taken to putting their daughters in fencing, he would not have thought Trebond in that group.

 

Things had become much clearer when he learned that she had a twin brother who was taking piano lessons. Yet, by then, he didn’t find that it was his place to say anything – obviously the twins’ nannies weren’t saying anything about the switch, and anyway any genius could tell that Thom Trebond had less than zero interest in fencing. All things being even, Coram preferred teaching those that wanted to be taught.

 

Alanna was not a particularly gifted fencer to start – certainly some others, his own Daran included, had her outmatched physically. Yet, she had had that spark in her eye, that certain something, that could not be trained – she was a fighter, and even if she was undisciplined and impatient, Coram had seen something in her. And she was, that first year, undisciplined and impatient.

 

“I don’t want to learn footwork again,” she had complained. “I want to pick up a sword. All I’ve done for the last month is footwork!”

 

“Footwork is seventy percent of fencing,” he had said sternly. “If you want to fence well, you must, must learn footwork.” Alanna had moaned and groaned and done it bedgrudgingly – but this was an attitude that Coram frequently saw in young fencers, and not one that concerned him. In time, Alanna had picked up the foil, and started fencing. She learned quickly and well, and even if her footwork was on the weak side and her point control wasn’t strong, she had good reflexes and stamina.

 

Alanna had jumped to go to her first competition – a minor one, a local regional for children held right at the Trebond Fencing Club. Even if it wasn’t a trip away, Alanna had been so excited to test her skills against someone not from her club. Yet, she had grown paler and paler from nerves waiting for her match, and when it had come, she had frozen. Her competition, a boy named Dragan Vitebsky, had scored two points on her before she belatedly began her defence.  The match hadn’t ended well – she had lost, fifteen points to nothing, in under the three minutes allotted. Dragan Vitebsky went on to the next round, and Alanna was eliminated.

 

Alanna had held it in until she walked off the piste and out of the fencing hall, but any fool could see she was upset. She had walked with a slow, beaten gait, her eyes cast low to hide the fact they were welling with tears. Coram wasn’t able to follow her – Daran was still in competition – but Maude had caught him a few minutes later and said simply that she and Alanna were very sorry not to be able to stay for the rest of the competition, but Alanna wasn’t feeling well and they would be leaving.

 

She hadn’t said anything to him the next practice. She had shown up, and had gone through her usual exercises without her usual verve, without her usual chatter. The silence was unnerving, and coupled as it was with Alanna’s unenthusiastic lunges and attacks, Coram called a halt.

 

He had examined her closely. Her eyes, which he now noted were not-quite-purple, merely a dark, odd shade of blue, were lacklustre, and dark circles underneath spoke of nights brooding. Even her copper hair, as curly as his own Alinna’s was straight, seemed to have lost its energy and hung, limp, behaving for once instead of flying in frizzles about her face.

 

“Have you slept since the tournament?”

 

Her gaze had fallen from his, off to one side, unwilling to answer. But Coram had gotten to know Alanna by this time, and he had known he could wait her out in silence. Eventually, she shook her head.

 

“I’ve seen worse,” he had offered. “What did you expect – that you would start competing and that everyone would fall immediately to your sword?”

 

Alanna had winced, and Coram had known that even if she would never admit it, there was a part of her that had wanted that outcome very much. “It’s not that,” she had blustered. “It’s just… I went in, and it was like – it was like my body wouldn’t do anything I told it to. I saw his simple attack, and would tell myself ‘Parry! Parry and riposte!’ and… my body just wasn’t connected. And Dragan…”

 

“Dragan Zitebsky is well enough,” Coram had replied softly. “He’s a year older than you, and has been practicing longer.”

 

Alanna had shaken her head, her face furrowing into an expression of disgust. “If that was a reason, then I may as well quit now. There will always be someone older, someone who has practiced longer. That’s not a reason.”

 

Coram had looked her over again, had seen the stubbornness lining her face underneath the exhaustion. She _wanted_ to fence, and she wanted to fence _well_.  “Then, Alanna, what are you looking for? Another reason?”

 

She had looked at him, finally, odd blue-purple eyes meeting his, and had shaken her head slowly. “I want to be a good fencer. I want to be able to win against people even if they’re older and have practiced longer. I want to _win_ , and I’m willing to _work_ for it.”

 

There had been a silence as Coram processed her words. “Well,” he had said with a slight grin, “then let’s get working.”

 

From that moment on, Alanna was one of his most dedicated students. She practiced footwork without complaint, every moment she had, until the other students had long since quit with complaints about burning thigh muscles. She worked on her point control until she was sure she could hit the right target, every time, on time. According to Maude, her usual driver to her lessons, she ran every morning around the Trebond estate, following the markings made by ruined battlements, and practiced footwork across the family’s grand dining room.  She taped a pillow to a wall and used it to practice her point control, destroying a good dozen pillows in the process. When she had spare time, she read books on fencing strategy. In practice, she fenced every person willing to fence her, even if it meant defeat. Slowly, defeats started turning into successes and even when Alanna had opted to switch to the sabre, Coram had followed her progress as a fencer.

 

No, Alanna was no sabre prodigy. Alanna’s skills were earned through discipline, hard work, and good partners.


	7. Archery Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kendo had their camaraderie, fencing had their rivalries, MMA had their united front. Archery, on the other hand, had fairness and transparency. Fairness and transparency, unfortunately, meant bureaucratic problems. Lots of them.

Kendo had their camaraderie, fencing had their rivalries, MMA had their united front. Archery, on the other hand, had _fairness and transparency_ as their guiding ideals. Fairness and transparency, unfortunately, meantbureaucratic problems. _Lots of them_.

 

It was Tuesday night, three days after recruitment, and Daine was mentally prepared to spend up to three hours sitting through a truly _torturous_ meeting. Unlike the other clubs, where the title of “Captain” meant they were in charge, “Captain” in Archery really just meant “VP External Affairs”. Essentially, Daine just went to Student Council meetings with notes meticulously prepared by the rest of the Executive, democratically elected in last year from the existing team. Actual leadership was handled by the President, usually a fourth or fifth year, and administrative matters were handled by a combination of the Secretary and Team Manager.

 

The President, for the second year running, was Sarge Ogunsanwo, a fifth-year. He was tough, competent, and … well, tough. He was good at his job, a fact for which Daine was thankful; he laid things out really easily for her. With her grades, she couldn’t really give archery the attention it needed, other than the welcome practices and competitions. She relied on Sarge to lay out Archery Team’s position for her to argue at Student Council.

 

The other two members of the Executive were new, but thus far had showed themselves to be very competent. Miri Fraser, the Secretary, had quickly gotten on top of the Archery records and score-keeping, and Evin, the Team Manager, was responsible for outlining what equipment the team had, what the team needed, and what the team wanted but didn’t necessarily need.

 

Daine had taken a couple liberties with his list at Student Council, but had no idea why Sarge had called another meeting so soon after recruitment. The process was set down in the by-laws – at this point, they called the first practice, explained the rules to the newbies, then they started the year-long competition. The only good thing about this meeting was that the rest of the Executive, feeling sorry for Daine, had put the meeting over a late dinner.

 

She would have skipped it anyway, but Numair had been very clear: if she wanted to pass her classes and stay at Crown, she needed to feed her brain.

 

 “We have a problem,” Sarge said, dropping his dinner tray into the empty spot beside Daine. “It’s a bit unusual, the recruitment situation, so I want your thoughts.”

 

“You know I trust your judgement, Sarge,” Daine said, digging into her shepherd’s pie, feeling a little guilty. She wouldn’t be so cranky if she hadn’t flunked the “review” quiz that morning in Art History. Seriously, though. Art History. If she had stayed in the public school system, she would have been taking things like regular history, or home economics, or something. Better yet, she probably would have had to take another language, because she wouldn’t have managed to get a language exemption. In that light, how could she _not_ take something as pretentious as Art History? “I mean, I know I should be doing more for the team, but…”

 

Sarge waved off her apology. “Not necessary, Daine. I know you have your hands full with not getting kicked out of school.”

 

“Yeah, don’t you wish that, if you were going to risk getting expelled every year, you would at least do it in a fun way?” Evin slid into the spot across from her, Miri close behind him. “I mean, if you ever want some variety, Daine, I have some _amazing_ ideas of what you could do. One of them even involves a _motorcycle_.”

 

“Does it also involve fire?” Miri asked, smiling.

 

“I’m getting predictable,” Evin sighed.

 

Daine rolled her eyes at them. Would she _never_ live down her first year? All right, so she had a gothic phase. A lot of people had a gothic phase. Like a lot of people, she moved on. She didn’t even wear her nose ring anymore. “For the record, I did not have a motorcycle. And I didn’t light fires either.”

 

“Well, that’s not fun,” Evin commented. “What kind of a delinquent were you?”

 

“I wasn’t a _delinquent_ ,” Daine said, falling back into the same, tired explanation. “I didn’t even _smoke_.”

 

“But you broke into a military gun range to shoot your bow, were promptly caught and almost charged with trespass until they saw your target, and then, because the base commander was a Crown Academy grad, you were offered a scholarship,” Evin finished. “You are the luckiest foster child in all of Tortall.”

 

Daine smiled sheepishly. That was, in essence, what happened and she was famous for it. There was only one detail wrong, one which Daine had been advised never to admit.

 

She hadn’t been caught with a bow; she had been caught with a gun. It just _happened_ that she was as good with a bow as she was with a gun. And maybe that was a little illegal, but really, Commander haMinch should have locked the guns up better.

 

“You said there was a problem, Sarge?” she said, changing the topic. It wouldn’t do to let them pry too much. There were things that Daine was comfortable with people knowing, and things that she wasn’t, and this was getting close to _wasn’t_.

 

“Yeah,” he replied, turning to Evin and Miri. “We need to work something out on tryout rules. We have two recruits who are in fifth year – Thayet Wilima and Buriram Tourakom. They’re cousins, transferred in from abroad. Both of them are experienced archers, reporting scores well in the range to make the team, but…”

 

“But transparency and fairness,” Daine finished, sighing. The archery team’s two cardinal rules.

 

“The way I see it, we have three options,” Miri said, raising her fingers. “One: we do a shoot-off of the fifth-year group and take the best ten. Two: we have them practice with us and let them compete normally with the fifth-year group. Three: We treat them like normal recruits for all purposes. If they shoot well enough, they compete with the recruit group.”

 

“The first is off.” Evin shook his head. “It’s not fair to the rest of the fifth-years. They fought fairly through recruitment, they’ve given four years of loyal service to us already. It breaks the fairness rule. You give your faith to us, we give our faith to you. We don’t change the rules and backstab people, especially our fifth-years.”

 

“I do thank you for that,” Sarge replied sardonically. “Unfortunately, I think two is out too. It breaks the transparency rule. The recruitment system has always worked like so: you shoot your best throughout the year. You submit your best practice score every week. One week before competition, we average the scores and take the top ten recruits for the first year team. All competition scores are included in future averages. At the end of the year, we keep the top ten. If we’re suddenly letting the second, third, fourth year teams have more people because of transfers, is that fair or transparent? And we’re not allowed to submit more than fifty in even the largest competitions anyway, so how would that work?”

 

“The competition rules don’t say ten per year though. They say fifty overall. So option two would be the least complicated, but if we do that then we’d pretty much turn it into option three, where we just treat them like normal recruits.” Miri sighed. “I’d forgotten the fifty-per-competition rule. Only two options, then. We boot out two upper-years, or we treat them like normal recruits.”

 

“So how will this work?” Daine interjected. Grades or not, she wasn’t _stupid_. “That would work fine if they were second, third years, even fourth years, but even if they made the team, they would _graduate_.”

 

They all paused at that, weighing the consequences. “Well,” Evin began, “It’s certainly fairer than the other option.”

 

“The first-year recruits won’t be used to competition,” Daine agreed. “They expect to go if they make top ten and only then, and if they don’t there won’t be any hard feelings. The only thing, then, would be if the transfer students make the team, we pull in runner-ups.”

 

Sarge nodded, thinking it over. “There’s even precedent for that – it’s really rare, but if a recruit makes the team but doesn’t come back to school for whatever reason, we do go on to the next person. In this case, they just know faster than most.”

 

“Is that in the by-laws? If it’s not, it sounds like something that should be. Since we’re at this point, though, I think we should probably set down a rule about transfer students as a whole – I actually think the fact they graduate makes it _simpler_ for us this time. What if they were in second year, or third year?” Daine added, chewing thoughtfully on her shepherd’s pie. “It is work, to add it to the Archery Team’s bylaws, but the problem will come up again. We might as well get the job done properly.”

 

“Ugh.” Miri groaned. “That’s really short notice… it’ll be a lot of work to draft it and get it circulated before the first practice, and with the notice requirement, I don’t actually think it can be done. I see your point, but with first practice being our official General Meeting, and needing enough time for the members to fairly consider the proposal for a vote…”

 

“Hmm,” Evin replied, propping his head in his hands. “That is a problem, but I agree with Daine. I think we’re looking at a by-law change anyway – dealing with the transfers this year is going to be major. I actually think it breaks cardinal rule one if we don’t; transparency means people know how things are going to judged, and that means having it written down. We don’t want to be in a position where someone says they didn’t know how the team would be picked.”

 

“I’d have to agree,” Sarge said. He was a fast eater – even if he had started after Daine, he was already scooping up the last dregs of his meal. “We are looking at a change in the bylaws, but really I don’t think it’s a large change – it’s two smaller ones. First, we formalize the runner-up rule. Second, we add a clarifying note in the procedures that states that transfer students are permitted to try out but are treated the same as regular recruits.”

 

“Problem – say it’s not a fifth-year transfer, but a second or third year transfer who makes the team. They graduate before their cohort, which leaves more open spots. Do we recruit to fill them? And if we do, that would cause problems for future cohorts because we wouldn’t be able to fill the full ten – that’s not fair to them.” Daine made a face.

 

There was a pause, as the others thought it through. Sarge had leaned back in his chair, pushing his empty plate away. Miri sat, arms crossed, frowning; Daine could tell that she would be the one drafting any by-law amendments, so it would be the hardest on her. Evin looked merely resigned.

 

“Well,” he said slowly, “there are no rules stating that we _have_ to put fifty in the regionals. And really, we’re the only school that does; the rest of the schools put in closer to twenty-five. Fifty is just the maximum, which we interpreted as being ten for each year. And you know that making it provincially and nationally comes down to individual scores throughout regionals. We can keep it as ten every year, and if some years that means we have less than fifty, that’s fine.”

 

“And if they’re in fifth year, then the runner-up rule would take effect because they won’t be there next year. We just have to word the runner-up rule carefully: how about ‘In the event that a recruit who makes the team is unable, for any reason, to take their position on the team the following year, the highest-scoring recruit shall take his or her place’?” Daine reasoned. “Something like that – but it has to specify ‘recruit’ or it will also apply once a transfer student teammate graduates and we’ll have the same problem.”

 

“Wait,” Miri interrupted. “I see your point, and I agree with it, but we still have the problem where we can’t draft and circulate the by-law amendments within the notice period before the General Meeting of team-members. It can’t be done. We need a week’s notice to circulate of amendments, and our first practice is this week.”

 

“We’ll have to push back the General Meeting date. There’s nothing saying our General Meeting _has_ to coincide with our first practice.” Evin shook his head. “I’ll handle that and notify all the team members that we’re pushing back the General Meeting a week. The recruits can’t vote, but we’ll have to notify them anyway because we need to set out how we score and how they make the team. We can still run through that at first practice and give them a copy of our bylaws, we’ll just highlight the two sections we’re amending but haven’t enacted yet, and tell them to attend the General Meeting date to see if they’re enacted. Does this sound good?”

 

Miri sighed, though Daine and Sarge both nodded thoughtfully. “It’s a lot of work, but I suppose it has to be done. How many copies should I run off? Sixty?”

 

“Sixty-six,” Sarge corrected. “We have twenty-four recruits, not including Thayet and Buriram.”

 

xxx

 

There was a list Daine kept, a list that she called “the things I wasn’t prepared for coming to Crown Academy”. On top of that list was “school”, simply because the classes were so much _harder_ than where she came from. Not that she wasn’t smart enough – Numair constantly told her that she was more than adequate academically – it was just that Crown Academy’s academics were more advanced than the public school system. It would have been, and was, difficult for most public school students to make the transition, but it was especially difficult for her because she hadn’t been at any single school consistently for more than a year before coming to Crown. The way Numair put it, she was trying to catch up on all the background knowledge from primary school while keeping up with an already academically challenging schedule. And anyway, Crown Academy had ridiculous classes – instead of sensible classes like “woodworking”, they had “Art History”.

 

Second on the list was related to the first, but Daine thought it was different enough to merit its own category. The grounds of the school were something else. Crown Academy was a network of several buildings, more like a university campus than a high school. There were the dorms, two major buildings: Redpath Hall and The Cloisters. The Cloisters was historically the girls’ dorms, but these days both buildings were mixed. Both dorms had large common rooms, a cafeteria, and study spaces. There was the Athletics Complex, all light and glass and steel beams, which included a state of the art fencing salle, a tatami room for the mixed martial arts team, a high-ceilinged wood room for the kendo and now the naginata team, the gymnasium where archery practiced, an indoor track, a weight room, a dance studio, an Olympic-sized pool with a diving platform… Daine hadn’t even managed to explore the whole complex yet. She had no idea why Archery had been practicing in the _upper hallway_ when she started, and made it a point in her arguments in her first year as captain.

 

Then there was the school itself – elegant and distinguished on the outside, absolutely modern on the inside, with Smartboards and tablet PCs and the newest science equipment. At her old school, Daine had to stay at the school library after hours to use a computer, and if she didn’t finish whatever assignment she had, she would have to go to the public library and convince a librarian to let her use a computer for more than an hour at a time… There was one time Daine had tried to handwrite her essay, but her teacher had refused to mark it. Was there really any question why Daine had stopped doing essays after a few times? And at Crown Academy, her teachers pooled together and bought her a laptop of her own – even though there were computers in the study rooms in the dorms that she could use whenever she wanted.

 

 And then there were the grounds themselves; rolling hills, woods, a pond to skate on in the winter… As far as Daine was concerned, Crown Academy was basically some sort of insane enclave of wealth.

 

The third, and final, item on her list was “people”, because … the people. There were just no words to describe the people. It wasn’t like they _meant_ it - mostly they were perfectly nice to her, particularly two years in. The ones that weren’t especially nice were too awed by her shooting prowess to say anything to her at this point. It was more that, sometimes, you would talk to them and they would say something utterly crazy without realizing they had said something utterly crazy. Things like, “my sister flew me to Ibiza a couple weeks ago just for the weekend,” or, “Are you going to Paris for Fashion Week this year? Or do you think the New York one would be better?”, or, “I spent my winter holiday at our ski chalet.”

 

Daine would never get used to it.

 

But, they say, you have to fake it until you make it, so Daine stood up in front of the assembled archery team plus recruits, a population sixty-six strong, and opened the Annual General Meeting.

 

“Good evening, archers,” she started genially. She wasn’t made of fire and brimstone, and if anything her style was self-deprecating. It worked better on these wealthy types. “My name is Daine Sarasdottir, and I am your Archery Team Captain.”

 

The gym was unusually crowded. As a general rule, archery had the gym six days per week – three were dedicated to formal team practice, three for the first year recruitment competition. Archery was big enough that even in her second year of captaincy, Daine didn’t know everyone very well. In any case, it was easy to pick out the first years from the group – they were the ones with the intense, determined looks on their eyes. The ones who made the team were listening, but had a laid-back, almost carefree air about them.

 

“First – congratulations to our new formal team members, last year’s recruits. In particular, top scores for last year recruits are as follows: Uline Hannalof, top score in recurve barebow, averaging 201 points per practice; Farant Aryon, top score in recurve free style, averaging 247 points per practice; Tarrus Miller, top score in compound bare bow, averaging 206 points per practice; and Vania Menaguale, top score in compound free style, averaging 263 points per practice.”

 

She paused, to allow the smattering of applause to fade away. She saw a girl with masses of crinkled black hair and cream-coloured skin smile cheekily and wave at a couple teammates, while the brunette girl beside her, holding a compound bow, merely looked smug. At 263 points though, Daine supposed she was allowed to be a bit smug. The boys were a little more reticent – Tarrus, a freckled, stocky redhead, nodded his thanks expressionlessly, while Farant, blonde, blue-eyed and well-dressed, merely smiled.

 

“And welcome back to the rest of the team as well, of course.” She quirked a smile at the room. “And with that, let me give you over to your democratically elected executive, because we all know, being archers, that I’m just up here for posterity. You voted in an executive last year, and, with that, I give you – your President, Musenda Sarge Ogunsawo, your Secretary, Miri Fraser and your Equipment Manager, Evin Larse.”

 

Daine stepped back, clearing the space at the front of the room for the President and the Executive, and took her seat behind a long wooden table set up at the side of the gym. The score-keeping table was where the recruits and team members would have to report their practice scores every practice, or at least once per week. She could hear Sarge beginning his traditional explanation of the scoring rules, but tuned it out; she had heard it twice before, and most of the rules hadn’t changed, after all. Only two small changes, which she knew Sarge would highlight at the end for all the team members who, like her, were adopting a look of attentiveness while politely zoning out.

 

Instead, Daine paged through the neat score-keeping charts that Miri had prepared for the year. There were binders for recruits from each year, marked by year of recruitment rather than year level, she noted. Records for regular team members were only kept so that team members could track their own progress; records for recruits, however, were kept for the traditional score averaging at the end of the year. Recruits and team-members were required to report at least one score per week, though it was recommended that they attend multiple practices and report only their top scores. Recruits almost always attended three practices per week and reported only their top score – even regular team members, now in the habit of doing so, attended at least twice per week except in extenuating circumstances. No one wanted to be the team member with a weekly score below 160, which was both usually a huge hit on your average and necessitated a visit from the President.

 

Archery was actually a bit of an odd sport at this level, Daine mused, watching Sarge pick up several bows to show to the recruits. He must be explaining the rules around each class of archer: recurve and compound, barebow and free style. Recurve bows were traditional – at full draw, the archer would feel the full draw weight of the bow. Compound bows had greater draw weight, but as a result of a network of pulleys, at full draw the archer would only be holding half the draw weight, leading to better aiming.  Barebow shooters relied on no external aids to assist in aiming their shots; free style archers were permitted to use a number of sights and stabilizers to assist in getting the perfect shot. Daine snorted softly, watching Sarge lift one of the compound bows – no matter what anyone said, she couldn’t see compound or free style shooting to be real archery. At a certain level, she figured that she might as well pick up a gun.

 

Traditionally, the club would pick the top two scoring archers in each division. The remaining two positions were made by Executive choice from the third-top scoring candidate in each division – it was the only part of archery not fully transparent, and it was mainly there because Archery always took 10 recruits, and it happened than ten did not divide evenly by four. Usually, Daine and the other senior members would look to regularity of practice, potential to improve, and a number of other “soft skills” to pick the last two in each cohort. She hadn’t had any complaints yet, so evidently the system must work.

 

“And finally – wake up, team members!” Daine started as Sarge roared. She wasn’t the only one. “Finally, we do have two proposed changes to the by-laws this year that need a vote from the entire team. These changes were highlighted in the booklets that Miri gave you earlier this week. Turn to page six – first rule change. Transfer students are permitted to try out for the Archery Team and, regardless of year level, will be treated the same as a regular recruit. Second rule change, turn to page fourteen - any time a person makes the team but is unable, by any reason, to take their team position, his or her position goes to the next-highest scoring candidate from that division. Can I have a volunteer to move for approval of these rule changes?”

 

“I do,” Daine saw a hand from the crowd. “Jenn Alexander, fourth year, compound free style.”

 

“Seconded.” A second hand was raised. “Onua Chamtong, fourth year, recurve bare bow.”

 

“All in favour?”

 

A wave of hands went up, and Daine could spot Miri peering around the room, counting hands. “Thirty-one in favour, Sarge.”

 

“Motion carried,” Sarge replied. “Now, for what everyone’s waiting for – motion to adjourn?”

 

“I’ll move to adjourn,” Daine heard, rather than saw. “Elnore Brown, second year, recurve free style.”

 

“Seconded,” another boy added. “Padrach McEvoy, fourth year, compound free style.”

 

“Then we’re adjourned until next year. You know where you’re supposed to be, children – get to it!”

 

Daine smiled, rising and stretching. It was a recruit practice tonight, not a senior practice, and she wasn’t on duty. “Good speech, Sarge,” she told him as he took her seat.

 

He grunted, shaking his head.  “As if you listened to half of that,” he replied.

 

Daine laughed. Her duties were done for some time now – mainly, she from now on, she would lead the team at archery competitions and would help with the scorekeeping, but at least the speeches and arguments were done for another year. And good thing, too – she was falling behind in most of her classes already. Numair would not be happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, everyone - I had a couple plot ideas that just needed to get out there, and to be honest I haven't been into archery for over ten years. I can't say this is how every high school archery team was designed, though mine was quite similar (though much less competitive, which was good because I never broke 100 points my entire time on the team!). I am honestly much more comfortable writing in the kendo and naginata scenes, and even a bit more comfortable in fencing scenes. I hope it was worth the wait!


	8. The Olau Open Invitational

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions run high as the Crown Fencing Club heads to its first tournament of the year, Alanna and Jon actually talk for the first time in months, and Kel suffers through her first fencing competition in sheer confusion.

Chapter 7: The Olau Open Invitational

 

September bled into October, and Kel felt as though she were finally settling into her hectic schedule of naginata training, kendo training, schoolwork, and keeping up with Neal, which seemed to be a job all on its own. Despite the fact that Kel had finally found her own places to sit at lunch (sometimes: the kendo team. Other times: her budding naginata team.), Neal would join himself wherever she was at least a couple times a week. And he would invade her room at least one more time during the week, and he insisted they study together at least two other times during the week. She had no idea what to make of it.

 

“Don’t you have your own friends?” she had asked him once, towards the end of September. “You don’t have to spend all your free time with me.”

 

He had thrown an eraser at her, and said, “Of course I have my own friends, in a manner of speaking. But they’re fencers and debate team friends – you aren’t always trying to test me the way they are, so sometimes I’d rather hang out with you. Now, what do you think of this poem to Uline Hannalof?”

 

Kel had simply shrugged and let him get on with it. She admitted she didn’t really understand his poetry – frankly, she thought it was terrible – but perhaps Tortallan poetry was different than Japanese or English poetry and maybe it was technically excellent. Certainly, Neal was helpful – he seemed to have a story about every other person in the school, and a certain wit and sarcasm she appreciated. And, of course, his friendship probably increased her marks in Tortallan language and literature by about fifteen percent, so she had that to thank him for as well.

 

Her optimism extended to both the naginata and the kendo teams. Her beginners were coming along quite nicely – the Linnshart sisters had a certain fire to them, a certain _need_ to do martial arts that Kel had seen before in other disciplines and that she sometimes saw in herself. They showed up, every practice, without complaint and did footwork until their feet bled. She was mildly concerned about their friend Yvenne, who had complained more than a little about footwork and perpetually wanted to do _new_ things without mastering the old, but she was most concerned about Prosper.

 

Prosper had, perhaps unknowingly, joined an all-girls club in a historically women-dominated sport. Kel never asked why he had done so; at first, she thought he just hadn’t known, and then she had thought perhaps it was that he was a bit smaller than other boys their age and wasn’t cut out for the heavier kendo and didn’t want to fence or do archery, and then she thought (or, perhaps, hoped?) that he enjoyed the more technical aspect of naginata as opposed to the other sports. Kel knew he was beginning to get flak from some of their classmates for joining the “girls’ club”, but she wasn’t sure yet what, if anything, to do about it. In any case, he showed up, regularly and without complaint, and practiced every bit as hard as the Linnshart sisters.

 

Kendo was another story. Kel was right in that she needed the exercise – teaching naginata, while certainly fulfilling, was not keeping her in the appropriate bogu shape. She was a month and some into the new sport, and they had deemed her ready for bogu. It turned out that being ready for bogu in kendo was completely different than in naginata, because Kel had promptly been thrown onto the floor and across the room multiple times. Kendo, unlike naginata, did not have a problem with body checking. And she wasn’t loud enough – _kiai_ s in naginata were done as part of an attack, yes, to show spirit, but they weren’t generally used for intimidation. It was different, but still interesting.

 

“Good morning,” she said politely, pushing her tray onto the dining hall table. Neal was already seated, two steaming mugs of coffee in front of him. Both were, of course, for him – Kel didn’t drink coffee. They usually ate breakfast together, if only because they were both in Redpath Hall.

 

“There’s nothing good about it,” he informed her, drinking deeply from one of the mugs. “Ugh, ce café est absolument dégoutant.”

 

“Then why are you drinking it?” It wasn’t that Kel actually _understood_ what Neal had said – in her French class, being A1.1 Beginner French, she was still learning basic information – how to introduce herself, order food, tell the time, that sort of thing. Neal, on the other hand, was in B2.1 Intermediate French and was looking at writing his DELF B2 exams in case he ever wanted to study in France or Switzerland. Every now and then, he switched into French just for the practice. The only reason she guessed what he was saying was because he _always_ complained about the coffee.

 

“Need the energy,” he replied, buttering his toast. “First competition is coming up on the weekend – it’s a TFA event. The Olau Open Invitational. Stupid name for a competition. I’ve been hitting practice harder than usual… I did a TFA competition, the Trebond Open, over the summer, and I did all right but I need to do at least four more TFA events to qualify for regionals and nationals. You should come watch.”

 

“Is it here, at Crown?” Kel raised an eyebrow. Being as it was called the _Olau_ Open Invitational, she would have thought it would have been held somewhere in Olau. As unfamiliar as she was with Tortall generally, she was pretty sure that Olau was an agricultural region directly to the east of Blue Harbour a few hours’ drive away. “I have practices, too. And TFA?”

 

Neal shrugged. “Tortallan Fencing Association. It’s our national organization – in charge of choosing the national team, rankings, things like that. You can probably hitch a ride with Dom. He told me he would come and watch, and he has his own car. And Arenaver’s not that far away, only an hour or so. It’s a pretty small competition, no teams, only individuals; sabres are on Sunday. The fencing team is carpooling over in groups, because fencing and epee competitions are on Friday and Saturday; only Alanna and a few of the others will be there all weekend. You can come just for the competition and leave right after.”

 

Kel thought about it. It wasn’t as if she had anything else scheduled on Sundays – both the naginata and kendo teams considered Sunday a “rest” day, with only free practice for anyone who was up for it. She usually just used it to finalize assignments, but she was on top of her schoolwork so it would be no great loss. And, as nonchalantly as Neal had gone about it, he wouldn’t have asked unless he wanted her there.

 

“I’ll talk to Dom.”

 

XXX

 

On Thursday night, Alanna was carefully checking over the team rosters. Almost everyone on the fencing team was competing in the Olau Open – it was one of the smaller regional competitions, only about fifty competitors in foil and fewer in epee and sabre. Since Crown alone sent more than half the competitors to Olau, it wasn’t ideal for getting exposure nationally, but it tended to be a good warm-up for later competitions. And every fencer needed at least five TFA events to rank and to qualify for the regional and national competitions, and the Olau Open was convenient both regionally and in the schedule. It was up to each individual fencer to ensure that they met the five-event qualification, but she liked to ensure there were five TFA events in the fencing competition schedule so that fencers who couldn’t make a summer event could still qualify.

 

She had checked and double-checked the registration forms – everyone’s TFA membership was up to date, everyone who was competing was registered to attend, everyone had a ride both there and back. The housing arrangements for the few who were staying the weekend were already made – her history teacher, Myles Olau, had again offered his summer cottage for the weekend. She’d made Thom cough up the keys to their car (he had scowled, but given in with good heart when she threatened to dunk him in the school fountain), and had loaded her car with all of her equipment and half of the foilists’ equipment too.

 

She heard a knock at the door, and a soft cough. It was open, today – she didn’t always like to have her door shut, and she was at the end of a hallway so for the most part it didn’t matter.

 

“Jon.”

 

“Hi, Alanna,” he replied, letting a sheepish half-smile come onto his face. Once, that smile would have melted her heart – now, Alanna wasn’t sure how she felt. His smile was still winning, but it didn’t have the same effect. There was an odd feeling in her stomach – she was happy, and it hurt, and she wanted to see him and she also didn’t want to see him. Ugh. She had always hated these complicated emotions. “Can I come in?”

 

Alanna shrugged, mentally commanding herself to chill out. “I suppose so. Is this about the foilists? Is there a problem I should know about?”

 

He came in, settled himself in her cushy armchair (when he once would have tossed himself casually onto her bed). “No – I mean, yes, but no, there isn’t a problem – look, Alanna, we ended on a bad note, last year.”

 

She raised her eyebrow at him. “I was there.”

 

“Yeah, I mean,” he let out a heavy sigh. “I mean, I feel badly about it.”

 

She waited. This, really, this moment is how she knew, finally, that she really didn’t want to get back together with him. If she did, what he was saying would make her over the moon, light as a butterfly, and she… didn’t. Which isn’t to say she didn’t feel some of that – there was some of that, but she also felt a little ill and mostly she just felt odd.

 

“Go on,” she prompted him, when he was silent for longer than she could stand. Which, in all honesty, wasn’t all that long. He just sat there, looking at the floor awkwardly, and Alanna took pity on him. “You said it was about fencing. Sort of.”

 

“Yes,” he replied, clearly relieved to have a proper opening. “I hate what this has done to our fencing team.”

 

Alanna snorted. “It’s not as though, if we were together, everyone would get along. These are _fencers_ , Jon. We fight all the damn time anyway. That’s why we have section captains.”

 

“True, but we’ve never really hated each other like this,” Jon pointed out. “If you think whatever happened between us didn’t affect the team, you’re wrong – most of the second year fencers are sticking to themselves or to their weapon groups, instead of fostering a larger team spirit. We’re not even going to the Olau event together; almost all of my foilists are going home after their competition day, and none of the epeeists or sabreurs are coming early to cheer on the foilists. This time last year, you’d gotten Master Olau to offer us his summer cottage and half the team stayed the whole weekend in sleeping bags on the floor – this year we’ve just got cars going on each day, and it’s everyone for themselves. And part of it is that it’s a lot harder for us to organize things when we aren’t talking except by email, and… whatever is between us, Alanna, I don’t want it affecting the team.”

 

Alanna was about to spit out a scathing remark, something along the lines of “Well, you aren’t the fencing captain, are you?” but then she looked at him, really looked at him – there were dark circles under his eyes, and he had a wan sort of look on his face. He was managing the largest and most unruly group of fencers, she remembered; while Wyldon and Gary only had about ten fencers under their care, Jon managed closer to twenty-five. All of the sabreurs came from old, established families; same with the epeeists. The foilists were more of a mixed group – many were from old nobility, but there were also a number from newer middle-class families, like that promising third-year Lila Mills. And Jon had to manage Joren Montague, of Tortallan Heritage Party fame, and that couldn’t be a walk in the park. She sighed.

 

“I don’t know how you want me to respond to that, Jon,” she replied bluntly. “If you’re asking if we can be friends again, I’m not up for that.” She thought briefly about apologizing, but she didn’t feel particularly sorry about it, so she left it off.

 

“I don’t mean to ask if we can be friends,” Jon said quickly, and Alanna knew that he had been intending on asking just that. “I mean, can we just… call a truce? Come sit with us at the fencing table again, and we’ll talk about fencing business there instead of by email.”

 

Alanna raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure your girlfriend would really appreciate that,” she replied, her tone acerbic.

 

“I’ll have a word with Josie.” He shook his head. “She’s nice, and all, but…”

 

Alanna felt her other eyebrow raise at that, and knew that instead of looking somewhat sarcastic and stern, she just looked surprised. Yuck. She forced her eyebrows to their normal position, sighed again. “I’ll think about it, Jon. Really, I will. And I’m still co-coaching with you at Olau, remember.”

 

Jon nodded, recognizing that this was the best he was going to get. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then. Good night.”

 

He closed the door after himself without asking.

 

“I wanted that left open,” she muttered, glaring mutinously behind him.

 

XXX

 

The next morning, Alanna was on the road early – she had stayed just long enough to make sure that all of the foilists were accounted for, then told Jon (in a civil, if not precisely friendly) tone that she would be leaving them in his very capable hands and would go ahead and make the team preparations on the other end. Even stopping for a coffee, she had gotten to the Arenaver Fencing Hall with plenty of time, scouted out a place for the Crown Academy fencers to put their equipment and sit, thrown on her team jacket, and got her copy of the pools.

 

Like most individual competitions, the Olau Open was structured into pools before the direct elimination matches in the afternoon. Every fencer would fence every other fencer in their pool, with the top scoring candidates moving on to the direct elimination matches in the afternoon. Alanna expected most of her foilists to make it into the direct elimination matches, but some things would always depend on who was in each pool, the number of pools, and so on.

 

Glancing through the pools, Alanna guessed there were fifty or sixty foilists competing today, with the top 16 in both men’s and women’s progressing into the direct eliminations. There were four pools in each of the men’s and women’s divisions, which would be played concurrently on the four pistes available. The women’s pools would be played first, then the men’s pools, then the women’s direct elimination and finally the men’s direct elimination.

 

The pools were fair, though, Alanna thought as she methodically began posting them on the wall she had staked out for the Crown Academy fencers, marking off the women’s pools with a red marker that she kept with her for that very purpose. She had only once had to ask for the pools to be redone because the organizers had put all of the Crown Academy fencers in the same pools instead of dividing them up properly. The point of a competition was to be able to fence people you couldn’t fence all the time, she had had to remind them, but that was the end of that. Nevertheless, she always arrived early and checked the pools just to make sure it didn’t happen again. It wouldn’t do for Crown Academy fencers to eliminate each other in the pools.

 

“Awww, shit,” Alanna heard Jon curse behind her. Glancing behind, she spotted the foilists beginning to come in. “I pulled a bad pool draw – might not make the direct eliminations. I’m in Daran’s pool. Alanna, can we borrow your car keys? You’ve got a lot of our equipment.”

 

“I remember,” she replied, turning around and pulling her keys out of her jacket pocket. “And just because Daran’s in your pool doesn’t mean you can’t make direct eliminations. They’re taking top sixteen, so top four from each pool or thereabouts. Daran’s good, but he’s not four fencers.”

 

She didn’t smile (didn’t even have the urge to), but it was probably the kindest thing she had said to him in four or five months. He shot her a winning smile, caught her keys when she tossed them to him, and disappeared to her car with a wave. She didn’t bother asking if he remembered which one it was – if he didn’t, he would be back.

 

From that point onwards, things moved quickly. The other foilists arrived and set up their area. Alanna used to try to keep the Crown Academy area neat and sorted, but had long given that up as a bad job – they were at a competition, and were full of nervous energy, and she had long learned that artificially keeping order raised everyone’s nerves even higher. The Smythessons, the two Cavall sisters in tow, gave her a coffee they had picked up for her on the way (“Trebond solidarity!” Rose had said, winking, when she passed it over), and Alanna had gotten all of the girls into their fencing jackets and off to their respective pistes.

 

Alanna floated between the pistes during the competition, keeping an eye on Jon who was doing the same. Truce or not, she had no intention of talking to him or running into him more than necessary, and in the hustle of competition, there was no need for both her and Jon to be hovering over the same piste at any given time.

 

In the women’s foil, there were few real surprises – only two Crown Academy fencers failed to make the top sixteen. First place was a closely fought match between fifth-year Mackenzie Seabeth and Rose Smythesson, with fourth-year Clara Goodwin resting easily at third. Maura Dunlath, to her pleasure, had come in fourteenth in her first true competition; and Margarry Cavall, one of the first-years Alanna had picked out that first practice, had ranked tenth.

 

The men’s foil was more closely fought, though again there were few surprises. Daran Smythesson had been the favourite to win the category, and so he did; two fourth-years, Hakim Fahrar and Imrah Legann, took second and third. If this kept up, Alanna thought reflectively, she would have to have a word with Jon about rejigging the Crown Academy men’s foil team for team competitions instead of relying on the fifth years alone.

 

XXX

 

Only the Smythesson and the Cavalls were staying behind, since they had siblings they intended on cheering for in the epee and sabre competitions. It made for a much quieter cottage, in the evening – instead of the wild partying, late night chatting and backyard bonfire they had had last year, the Cavall sisters just threw together a pasta that they shared with everyone. Alanna had always thought of Cavall as being a particularly conservative house, like her own – she was quickly proven wrong when Vivienne had shown up on the Crown fencing scene.

 

“Wyldon’s just a stick in the mud,” she said, laughing, when Alanna asked. It was rude, to ask – but they were into their second bottle of wine at this point, a fairly recent Olau vintage that, in Alanna’s opinion, needed to age another year or two, and Alanna had known the Smythessons since they were fencing at the Trebond Fencing Club and she _liked_ Vivienne and Margarry. They were lighthearted, carefree, and utterly serious about their fencing. “And I wouldn’t necessarily call him _conservative_ , either – traditional, maybe, stubborn, definitely, but politically, I think Wyl is pretty centrist. It’s like… he wouldn’t make certain choices in his own life, you know, he wouldn’t agree with some positions, but he wouldn’t actively try to prevent others from doing it.”

 

“And even if he were really conservative,” Margarry added cheerfully, “it wouldn’t matter. Ancient nobility or not, we’ve been a straight military family for so long. Wyl’s almost certainly going to uphold family tradition and head for a military career. But he’s definitely a total stick in the mud – your fault for making him section captain, Trebond.”

 

“I know what that pressure’s like, with military families,” Daran said, sipping at his wine. “Honestly, if it wasn’t for fencing, I think I’d be headed to the Royal Military College myself, not that Dad ever said anything. But you know, growing up on a military base, it’s almost expected. But I think Royal’s fencing team wants me – they’ve already contacted me about whether I thought about going there for school, so I think they might be offering me a scholarship or something. Or at least explaining away my grades to the administration.”

 

Rose shoved her brother lightly on the shoulder. “Of course they want you. You ranked third _nationally_ last year and started this year off really well with a first at Trebond Open. Then first here – I’m shocked Royal’s the only one calling.”

 

“Where are you thinking of going, Rose?” Vivienne asked. “I’m leaning towards Mt Sarryn, myself, but it’s early yet for us.”

 

Rose shrugged easily. “I’ll talk about it with Elenna – wherever we go, we’ll go together. The advantage of having a twin is that you have a built-in best friend.”

 

Alanna snorted. “Nope. I have a twin. Definitely Thom is _not_ my built-in best friend. I love him, but wherever he is going is not factoring into my plans.”

 

“That’s because your family is fucked up,” Daran informed her casually. “Like, super fucked up. And your brother is weird. As in, I think he might be a psychopath kind of weird.”

 

“I prefer emotionally stunted,” Alanna replied, equally casually. “He’s power-hungry and thinks he’s the shit, yes, but I don’t think he can’t empathize with people. He just doesn’t choose to, usually.”

 

Both Smythessons and Vivienne Cavall shot her disbelieving looks. Thom was famous for his loner tendencies, and equally known for his acerbic tongue. But it was true; Thom wasn’t really a psychopath. Misanthrope, definitely – a tad unbalanced, or maybe he simply preferred to let others think so – but not a psychopath.

 

“Look, Alanna, meaning no disrespect, but if anyone came and shot up the school, my first thought would be Thom,” Vivienne ventured. “If he has any empathy, I think you’re the only one he shows it to.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Alanna replied lightly, raising an eyebrow. “Thom wouldn’t shoot up the school. There are too many valuable and useful people in it. Thom might _almost_ _blow up_ the school, but he wouldn’t actually do it.”

 

“Um,” Margarry interrupted, looking rather red-faced and frowning into her wine. “Is there any reason why so many northerners are named variations of Alanna? I mean… Alanna… Elenna, Alinna? And if this is what being drunk feels like, I don’t think I like it.”

 

They laughed, and Vivienne swiped and drained the rest of Margarry’s glass. “You’re cut off for the night. Don’t tell Wyl I gave you wine. He’ll kill me.”

 

“And, to answer the question, yes – it’s after the Lioness stories,” Daran explained. “That old legend about the lady knight who was King’s Champion under King Jonathon the Third, who quested and brought the Dominion Jewel to Tortall. Who knows if any of that ever happened, but the Lionness is supposed to have been from Trebond. So there’s a lot of Alannas and variations thereof in Trebond, and of course some are named after other people named something like Alanna. My sister Elenna is actually named after our grandmother, who might have been named after the legend. Alinna is actually named after the stories.”

 

Margarry thought hard about this for a moment. “But isn’t that confusing?”

 

Rose shrugged. “We just call Alinna, Linn, when we’re at home, so not really.”

 

XXX

 

Having the Smythessons and Cavalls around made coaching for epee that much easier. Even if epee rules were different, they were around and free to help out with things like getting alternate weapons for fencers whose weapons bent in competition, or with technical issues with the electronic scoring system.

 

The epee competition was considerably smaller than the foil competition, but Olau continued with four pools and a direct elimination round of sixteen. Alanna was pleased to see a larger number of competitors from other clubs in comparison with her team, but since Crown Academy only two competitors in women’s epee, it could hardly have been worse. Elenna Smythesson took the first place for women’s epee, and her counterpart Doanna Fenrigh pulled a respectable eighth. Much to their disappointment, they couldn’t even field a women’s epee team this year; they needed at least three women to field a team.

 

In the men’s epee, the Crown Academy men’s team finished strong – Geoffrey Meron and Gary Naxen dueled it out for first, with Geoffrey taking it by a single point, while Oliver Linden and Stigand Fenrigh settled in third. The new second-years on the team, Faleron Mainderoi and Zahir ibn Alhaz, both made the direct elimination rounds and finished respectably at seventh and tenth respectively.  Unfortunately, of the first years, only Iden Vikison made the direct elimination round, whereupon he was promptly eliminated by Gary himself and finished sixteenth.

 

That night, Elenna joined them at the cottage, but Alanna turned in early while the siblings caught up. Competitions were always exhausting, and she was actually competing tomorrow, and needed the sleep.

 

XXX

 

On Sunday morning, Kel found herself rethinking her plans when she saw Dom’s car. Once, it was clearly a nice car – a 2010 Masbolle Night, in a smarting shade of green – but the number of dents and scratches on it had evidently destroyed any value. Peeping into the windows, Kel winced. Coming from the Japanese style of thought, where cleanliness was next to godliness, the interior of Dom’s car could only be described as a disaster.

 

“Don’t think too much about it,” he advised when he caught her glance, tossing his fencing bag into the trunk and climbing in the front seat. “Just shove all the papers and stuff over to the other side. And don’t worry; if Dom was really that bad at driving, I’d have ridden with the Stump.”

 

Kel hesitated, looking over the scraped, dented, green monstrosity one more time before gingerly climbing in. “Isn’t… Masbolle a major car manufacturer? And you shouldn’t call your section captain the Stump.”

 

“If you had to train with the Stump, you’d understand,” Neal muttered, resting his head on his seatbelt. “Wake me up when we get there. Or when we get coffee.”

 

“Meathead, if you’re going to sleep the entire way there, get out of the front seat. Whoever rides shotgun has to stay awake and keep me awake. I’m not at my best in the morning either. And the car is passed down from my older brother, who isn’t a bad driver but is awful at parking. Only a couple of the dents are mine. Dad figures that I should just drive this one into the dust and practice driving in a car that isn’t worth anything.”

 

Neal groaned. “Are we at least going to stop for coffee?”

 

“Yes, we’ll stop for coffee, now switch seats with Kel and give her the directions you printed off Google Maps. You _did_ print directions, didn’t you? We have to get going – Cavall’s giving us the evil eye.”

 

“ _Fine_ ,” Neal grumbled, pulling a folded square of paper from his pockets and passing it to Kel as he traded seats with her. “Wake me up with a coffee.”

 

Despite so saying, Dom wasn’t talkative during the drive there. They picked up coffees in Blue Harbour on the way to the A10, and after a disbelieving look from both Dom and Neal, Kel settled for tea. Somehow it was utterly unfathomable to them that, at seven in the morning, she didn’t need caffeine, never mind that normally she woke up at six anyway. The tea was much stronger than she was used to, too, she thought, unsettled by the jittery feeling that she was getting.

 

“Dom, can’t you get a better taste in music?” Neal asked plaintively from the backseat. “You’re listening to _Christian rock_ , this is a new low for you.”

 

Dom’s music was, from what Kel could tell, nearly polar opposite to Neal’s own taste. Especially since Neal was so adamant on playing music while studying or thinking, Kel had become very familiar with his favourites: Josh Groban, Amaury Vassilli, Michael Buble, Il Divo… it all sounded the same to her. He called it romantic, but she found it mostly dramatic. Dom, on the other hand, leaned towards heavier music, rock music, she guessed.

 

“Good music is good music,” Dom replied, clearly resuming an old argument. “And I wouldn’t say Skillet is really _Christian rock_ ; except for their 2008 album, their music is clearly open to other interpretations. And they’re really more of a metal band than a _rock_ band.”

 

“Is there a difference?” Kel ventured. “And you need to veer left here.”

 

“Sure, there’s a difference. Rock is sort of a catch-all term, where anything that’s on the heavier end and has guitars and drums can call itself rock regardless of other influences. You can think of metal and punk as two subgenres of rock, but most people who listen to metal or punk wouldn’t appreciate that very much. Metal tends to emphasize technical skill, so you’re more likely to have long instrumental solos, whereas punk emphasizes passion. I listen to both, so it doesn’t matter that much to me.”

 

Neal let out a gusty sigh. “Don’t tell me you’re getting into this awfulness, too, Kel! Not after all the good music I’ve exposed you to!”

 

Kel just laughed. Her own tastes leaned towards instrumental, and in any case she didn’t really understand the passionate lengths to which others would go to defend their musical tastes.

 

Neal took off as soon as they reached the Arenaver Fencing Hall. “Want to see who’s in my pool,” he said, pulling his equipment out of the trunk and dashing for the doors. They weren’t late, precisely, though Kel could see that at least one of the other sabre cars had already arrived.

 

“Why don’t we head in? Find somewhere to sit – a lot of these competition areas don’t have that much seating anyway, just like a kendo competition. I haven’t been here before, so I can’t be sure.” Dom shot her a bone-melting smile, draining the rest of his morning coffee.

 

Kel squashed the odd swoopy feeling in her stomach and nodded gratefully. Really, as attracted as she was to Dom, it wasn’t going anywhere. He was a teammate, and Neal’s cousin besides, and a third-year. Whatever it was she was feeling, she had no intention of acting on it.

 

In another person, she would have called it cowardice. But in her case … she mentally shrugged.  Returning Dom’s smile, she replied, “Yes, that sounds good. What was Neal talking about, anyway – pools?”

 

They headed into the fencing hall together, finding seats easily despite Dom’s misgivings. Kel spotted Neal congregating with a number of other people she vaguely recognized from around school, clustering around a series of sheets pinned on the walls. If it were a naginata competition, she would have bet that those were the competition ladders, but there were far too many sheets for that.

 

“Most individual competitions are divided first into pools, where every fencer has a three minute match against every other person in their pool,” Dom explained easily. “It’s three minutes or first to five points, actually. In foil, it’s not unusual for the match to go the full three minutes, but in sabre, most of the time five points will be scored within the first thirty seconds. From the pool results, they’ll calculate everyone’s standing based on matches won, indicator score and total points scored, and from there the top sixteen will go into the direct elimination matches. Looks like the women’s sabre pools are going first. We should get a seat close to Alanna’s pool – she’s always worth watching. She’s that good.”

 

“How do you know so much about fencing?” Kel asked lightly. “You fenced before?”

 

“A little,” Dom shrugged. “My mom’s a Quinn, after all; I fenced foil for about two years, but it wasn’t for me. My brother fences too, foil, but I know sabre because Neal fences it and I’ve been tagging along with him to competitions for a long time.”

 

“You’re close?” Kel wasn’t sure what else to say. They had practiced a lot together, sure, but kendo tended to just be about getting up when he body checked her onto the floor or into a wall and trying to hit him on the head. She wasn’t sure what else they had in common, if not Neal.

 

“Oh, Neal’s like my brother,” Dom replied nonchalantly. “For both of us, our older brothers are a lot older than we are – Loic is six years older than me, the same age as William, Neal’s next oldest brother. Graeme’s even older – eight years older than me. So we hung out a lot together as kids and grew up together – I’ve been tagging along to fencing competitions with him forever.”

 

“Neal’s been fencing long?”

 

“Since he was seven, sabre since he was nine.”

 

The PA system crackled to life, announcing the start of the women’s pools. Dom’s eyes tracked over to Alanna, her frizzy red hair sticking out even from a distance. “Come on, let’s go watch.”

 

Even without any experience, Kel could tell that Alanna was _good_. There weren’t very many Crown Academy fencers in the women’s sabre competition, so Alanna had landed in a category with four fencers from other clubs. She put each of them away in less than twenty seconds of play-time, though there were frequent stops while judges decided whether a point was scored or not.

 

In sabre, as far as Kel could tell, as soon as _Allez!_ was called, both fencers surged forward with hits, sparking off the electronic scoring system. At least half the time, no points were awarded with a call of “no separation”.

 

“What does that mean?” she whispered to Dom the fifteenth time or so it happened. He was watching the matches intensely, clearly caught up in the action – every so often he shook his head, muttering under his breath, commentary on the matches.

 

“No separation?” He confirmed, distracted. “It means no point because they can’t make a call on priority, or right of way. Both fencers were moving forward at the same time with attacks, no clear parry and riposte or counterattack. Sabreurs are looking to get a point clearly before their opponent does. Alanna’s got an advantage at this because she smaller and faster – she’s good at limiting her hits taken as well as being good at scoring hits. See, there? She’s drawing her opponent in to attack by retreating and lifting her guard, and… there’s the point.” For when the opponent struck, Alanna had withdrawn an extra foot, just letting the sabre miss, and counter attacked with a clear hit on the shoulder. Dom sighed happily. “Fencing is more fun to watch than it is to play. Kendo’s fun to play.”

 

Even not understanding what was happening, Kel had to agree. There was undeniable tension in the arena, an intensity she was used to feeling from naginata competitions; it was hard not to get caught up in it. Alanna put away her pool with no difficulty, as did one of the other Crown Academy fencers, another redhead that Kel recognized from her Tortallan class as Alinna Smythesson. The third Crown Academy fencer, a second year, lost a match in her pool, but still made it into the direct elimination matches.

 

“That’s still pretty good, though,” Dom told her. “Deirdre is new to sabre, so making direct elimination is good. And Alinna Smythesson, well, the Smythessons have a reputation in fencing, most of them fence from six or seven the way the Quinns do. Neal’s a heavy favourite in the men’s sabre too, and he got lucky in the pools – his three main competitors here are Wyldon Cavall, Padraig haMinch and Sacherell Wellam, and they’re all in other pools.”

 

True to his words, Neal placed highly in the pools, winning all of his matches but taking a number of hits, too. Neal was shaking his head when he joined them for lunch.

 

“Third,” he said in explanation. “The Stump and Wellam have higher indicator scores. I took too many hits in the pools. It’s good, but I’d love to get one up on the Stump. And haMinch lost a match to Zaimid in his pool – he can’t be happy about that.”

 

“What’s an indicator score?” Kel asked. A whole morning of fencing later, she still had no idea what a play was, or where the points were being scored. Compared to naginata, it just looked messy. The apparently very flimsy weapons bended and flicked, scoring points faster than she could track with her eyes. If it weren’t for the electronic buzzer, she wasn’t sure anything could be called a point. 

 

“The indicator score is the total points a fencer scores subtracting the number of points scored on them by others,” Neal explained, taking the croque-monsieur Kel offered. Dom had run out to get lunch for them, though the Olau Fencing Club had arranged for a lunch delivery. From the scowls on most of the Crown Academy fencers’ faces, the salad was unwelcome. “I, the Stump, and Wellam all won five matches each. But the Stump took the fewest hits – he only took ten hits, so his indicator score is fifteen. Wellam took twelve, and I took sixteen, so I’m only third. Thanks for the sandwich, by the way – whatever they ordered is so not worth the extra ten bucks we paid for lunch.”

 

“You’re very welcome. And it’s still a good standing – with Padraig losing out against Zaimid, he’s only fifth. You’ll be on different ends of the ladder, so he’ll have to eliminate Wyldon to get to the final, which isn’t likely. You might get your chance against Wyldon later – you’ll have to go through Sacherell first, though.”

 

Neal made a face. “I can take Wellam on a good day, but it’ll be tight.” He sighed, chewing. “But hey, at least I have a real lunch. Maybe Wellam will be hungry and distracted all through his matches…”

 

“You shouldn’t rely too much on your opponents’ weaknesses,“ Kel suggested drily.

 

“Very budo of you,” Neal replied, drinking deeply from a flask. “I’ll be sure to come and comment on your kendo matches next month, too.”

 

Individual matches, Kel was interested to see, were played quite differently from the pool matches. They fenced to fifteen points, with no discernable time limit, though the matches played so quickly that they rarely lasted long anyway. There was a one-minute break called when one player reached eight points, with the trailing player normally looking tense and worried by that point. The women’s table was played first, with Alanna sweeping the competition, and Alinna Smythesson losing gracefully to her in the final match, fifteen points to ten.

 

“She’ll be one to watch,” Dom commented. “If she can get her indicator score up, she’ll be a serious threat later.”

 

“I’d think she was a serious threat _now_ ,” Kel pointed out. “She’s won all of her matches except for the final. That’s doing well.”

 

“But she’s mostly pulling wins by luck – her wins are all fifteen points to thirteen points or something. The margin of win isn’t high, so she probably plays very inconsistently from tournament to tournament.” Dom grinned. “Or maybe I just know that because I watched her play at the Trebond Open, too, and she only pulled sixteenth there.”

 

In the men’s competition, it was clear that Neal _was_ having a good day – after putting away two fencers from other clubs, he pulled a narrow win in his match against Sacherell Wellam and landed himself in the final against Wyldon Cavall, but lost badly fifteen points to seven.

 

“More work, Quinn-Cohen,” Kel heard Wyldon say sternly, as they shook hands at the end of the match. She didn’t hear Neal’s response, but judging from the frown on Wyldon’s face, would have put money on it being the sort of thing he would be assigned laps around the school track for later.

 

“Good showing, though,” Neal said, dropping his arms around her and Dom. “Second, after eighth at Trebond Open? I’m a lock for regionals.”

 

“And probably in for nationals too,” Dom replied, clapping him on the back. “But lest your ego grow too large, that last point against Sacherell was messy – at regionals, he would have called for a video review, that’s how messy it was. Don’t they have showers here? You need one.”

 

Neal made a face. “The showers are gross here. Let’s just head back. I have to finish a paper for Master Olau.”

 

Odd, Kel thought. No party. At naginata competitions, there was _always_ some sort of tournament or seminar party. But perhaps it had happened the night before or would happen back at the school – it wasn’t her sport, so hell if she knew.

 

XXX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, fencing is so hard. I literally watched six hours of footage from the World Fencing Championships and researched online some hours to write this. I'm inspired to try fencing one day, even if it does look really messy compared to naginata. Even kendo looks pretty messy compared to naginata though.
> 
> Questions? Comments? Leave them below!


	9. The Halloween Hop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alianne Cooper has been at Crown Academy for six weeks, and it's time for her to set up business. Meanwhile, shenanigans at the first school dance of the year blow up fencing team's internal conflicts.

Chapter 8: The Halloween Hop

 

Alianne Cooper had been at Crown Academy for six weeks. She hesitated to call those weeks particularly long - they were, in fact, no longer than any weeks at her old school. But they _felt_ long, mainly because she had spent that entire time reconnoitering the social landscape of Crown Academy. Unlike most of the people at Crown, Aly didn’t have a _family history_ here. And unlike the scholarship students, she didn’t have an automatic network of friends who were equally lost.

 

She had scouted out and joined the notoriously secretive martial arts club – it was a quick and easy way to increase her own social standing and get some connections, and by far the most useful, practically, of the martial arts clubs. Her grades were good; even if she hadn’t gone to the _grandes ecoles_ that the ancient nobility and upper class sent her classmates to, her public school education more than made up the slack. She would have been perfectly satisfied to attend public high school, too, but her parents had _ambitions_ and those, apparently, were best met by scraping together the outrageous Crown Academy tuition.

 

Aly spent the first six weeks doing what she did best: research. Not library research; the kind of research you could only do by exploring, watching, listening. She had figured out the social hierarchy by now, nuances and all. The fencers were on top, with that Jon De Conte at its head. He was a handsome enough guy, she supposed, but she wasn’t sure he was really worth all the fuss that Josiane Rittevon seemed to think he was worth. So he was the sole heir to the Conte Group and the favourite to win the crown at Midwinter Ball two years running – so what? His fencing, compared to most of his teammates, was abysmal. He had qualified for regionals the year before but had been eliminated before nationals. His grades were just mediocre. Aly was summarily unimpressed.

 

Alanna Trebond, really, was far more interesting. Even if Jon had some pretty notable names supporting him, including Nond, Naxen and others, Trebond had friends at all levels of the school hierarchy and very close ties with the Smythesson military family. She was expected to be picked for the Tortallan national fencing team as soon as she began competing in the senior division. She was fluently trilingual, something rather uncommon for the old nobility. Academically, she was superior. And based on observation only, Aly guessed that however Alanna might have felt about Jon, Jon still cared about her and would probably bring his social power to her aid if necessary. Despite the new girlfriend, Aly noticed that Alanna nearly always caught his eyes, and that he often just … watched her, an inscrutable expression on his face.

 

Right underneath the fencers were the archers. The archers were a mixed group, having a substantial number of scholarship students but also a large number of notable families among their number – the Larses, the Frasers among them. No one could forget that Evin Larse was the son of action star Alton Larse, whose films regularly grossed more than thirty million euro. And the Frasers, while certainly not old money and not nobility, owned a substantial shipping business worth approximately 425 million euro. The strength of the archers lay in the fact that they generally acted together and by consensus; the strongest and most valuable members more than made up for lack of others.

 

Then there were the kendo and naginata teams. For the time being, Aly classed them together, mainly because the naginata team captain, Keladry Mindelan, had clearly negotiated some sort of deal with the kendo team and was an active part of both teams. Unless Aly missed her guess, the deal probably revolved around her joining kendo for their assistance with her nascent club. Keladry was a character worth watching, in any case – the youngest daughter and fourth Mindelan sibling to attend Crown Academy, her connections weren’t insubstantial. Her parents were, of course, Piers and Ilane Mindelan, long-time Tortallan ambassadors to Japan; her older brother, Anders Mindelan, had recently made the list of top 30 under 30 trial litigators in Corus. And, unless Aly missed her guess, Keladry also had excellent social sense.

 

Within a week of arriving at Crown Academy, Keladry had formed an alliance with the powerful Quinn clan through Neal Quinn-Cohen and Dominic Masbolle, and boosted her own international connections through the kendo team. There were the Dulacdors, of course, who ran most of the Tortallan-Spanish wine trade; Aiden Zhou, whose father was a high-ranking Party member in China; Hae Min Park, daughter of two senior engineers at Samsung. Collectively, the kendo team probably had the strongest international connections at the school.

 

The only reason Aly hesitated to class the kendo and naginata teams higher in the school hierarchy was because they generally didn’t get involved in any serious school politics. They, by and large, stayed out of the larger dramas created by the fencers and archers, and wouldn’t stick their nose in it unless it directly threatened one of their own – an unlikely prospect, considering how small both clubs were.

 

Her own team, the martial artists, were larger than the kendo and naginata teams by a fair margin, but probably collectively held lower standing. Most of the team were scholarship students, and the rest were mainly people like her – newcomers to Crown looking for a down-to-earth community of people largely like them. Even if the other teams and other students regularly paid lip service to her team, individually, none of them garnered much respect. Even if George Cooper, their nominal spokesperson, regularly rubbed shoulders with Jon De Conte and Alanna Trebond and placed highly in every competition he entered, he still wasn’t really _respected_ by the school at large.

 

These were just the facts of Crown Academy life, and there was no point crying over them. Instead, Aly figured, staring at a poster in the maths corridor, you may as well find a way to make a _profit_.

 

The poster read _Halloween Hop! Costume Dance_.  It was a pretty standard high school dance advertisement poster though clearly Gary Naxen had coaxed one of the art students into drawing a poster for them because the drawing wasn’t half bad. It was simply a mask, a half mask designed to cover the eyes and nose, decorated with glitter, gilted gold and feathers in the style of Carnivale. The details below simply indicated the date, time and location in the gym, and an announcement that Merging Moon would be playing. That would be more impressive, really, if Merging Moon wasn’t only non-school-run band. Still…

 

Still, dances were _interesting_. Dances were full of opportunity for embarrassment, disgrace, _scandal_. Especially at a school like Crown, where youthful alliances and friendships were made that could reverberate through the Tortallan business world… high stakes over such a small thing. Heck, why hadn’t she thought of this before? _Everything_ at Crown had the opportunity for scandal!

 

And where there was an opportunity for scandal, there was an opportunity for _profit_.

 

Aly spent the entirety of her maths class designing herself a simple, elegant business card.

 

_Alianne Cooper_

_Social Dynamics Consultant_

_Information, Investigations and Professional Problem-Solving_

 

XXX

 

Within two days, Alianne Cooper was the talk of Crown Academy. Her business cards had found their way into every student’s room or belongings, and were pinned discretely on each residence’s bulletin boards. Reactions were varied, ranging from curiosity through scorn. Kel, who had found the card stuffed in her maths textbook, had merely glanced at it before tossing it into her bag. She didn’t see the need for this Alianne’s services, and in any case she was too busy to worry about it.

 

Neal, though, fell in the first camp, and pulled a seat up to Kel’s lunch table. Today, she was sitting with her naginata team.

 

“Who is she?” he asked bluntly, aiming his question at the table generally. “I looked her up in the student records – she’s a first year. No relation to George Cooper – she’s not a scholarship student. Do you know her?”

 

Fianola shook her head. “Second year, Quinn.” The Linnsharts were old nobility, but neither Fianola nor her sister, Sorcha, acted like it. The way Fianola had explained it to Kel, even if they were old nobility, they were a family that had long since lost their lustre; they didn’t have the political or economic power of many of the other ancient noble families. Their parents were successful professionals, certainly, but not extraordinary. She and Sorcha hadn’t gone to the prep schools usual for ancient nobility and the upper class, and had instead gone to their local public school in East Tortall.

 

“She’s in my World History class,” Prosper offered. “She’s quiet, but I think she’s pretty smart; she always knows the answers when Master Olau asks her. I think she must come from the public school system or an English-language private school – her English is a lot better than most of the old nobility and I think she takes most of her classes in English. Most of my classes are in Tortallan, so I don’t see much of her.”

 

Prosper was also from an ancient noble line, traditionally barristers and solicitors. Tameran Hollyrose Mainderoi was one of the top Corus litigation firms, and his uncle Tameran sat on the Tortallan Supreme Court. In many ways, he typified a member of the ancient nobility – he had gone to Temple Preparatory School in Corus, one of the major preparatory schools for Crown Academy. Being as his family did some international law, his English was better than average for a member of the ancient nobility but not as good as Neal’s (who had gone to the liberal Highfields Academy), Kel’s (who had gone The British School in Tokyo), or anyone who had gone to a Tortallan public school (where the curriculum mandated English classes from Year One).

 

Sorcha and Yvenne nodded together. “She’s in our Sciences class. Her accent is from Corus, though – University district, I think?” Sorcha directed her last question to Yvenne, who liked linguistics and was the best at distinguishing Tortallan accents.

 

Yvenne cocked her head, thinking it over. “There’s some University district in the way she makes her vowels, but she uses some Lower City slang sometimes too. Definitely public school – she’s in my A2 German class. The University district schools are really strong on languages, since the profs and students are diverse.”

 

“She’s the one with short strawberry-blonde hair and blue eyes?” Kel asked, and on confirmation from the other first-years, added, “She’s in my maths class, but I’ve never spoken with her. She sits at the back of the room.”

 

Neal sighed gustily. “No one knows anything! My other connections are useless; no one’s heard of her, and Cooper is too common a last name to track.”

 

Kel raised an eyebrow at her friend’s dramatics. “I think we’ve just given you a lot of information. But if you’re that curious, her contact information is on the back. Go ask her something.”

 

“I probably will, but I have to think about what would be worth asking.” He dug into his dessert. “What are you all going to wear to the Halloween Hop?”

 

XXX

 

When Alanna found Alianne’s business card tucked in the pocket of her usual school jacket after fencing practice, she had eyed it for far longer than she should have. Information, Investigations, and Professional Problem-Solving – she could do with some of that.

 

Two weeks after her conversation with Jon, she still hadn’t sat at the usual fencing table at lunch. The invitation was there, however, and, grudgingly or not, Alanna knew that it would be best for the team if she sat with them and did her team planning in person with her section captains. Still, despite Jon’s promise to “talk to Josie”, Josiane Rittevon was still sitting with them at lunch every single day, still sneering at her prettily every time Alanna passed her. Coming to Jon’s table felt too much like an admission of defeat. And if there was one thing Alanna hated, it was admitting defeat.

 

Instead, she pinned the card carefully on her bulletin board for reference. She had other things to think about, for the moment. She still had to come up with something to wear for the Halloween Hop, a ridiculous name for a dance if there was one. She had said so, last year, to Gary, but he had simply shrugged and said it was the best they could come up with, and that she was welcome to come up with another name next year. Then, of course, the whole Jon thing happened, so she hadn’t spoken to Gary properly since May.

 

She had to make an appearance. Failing to go would be like admitting defeat. Last year, she and Jon had gone together and had matching costumes – Superman and Wonderwoman. Kind of lame, sure, but it had still been a hit, especially because a lot of the fencers had worn matching superhero costumes. Alexander Tirrigen, recently graduated, had gone as The Dark Knight; Gary had been Robin. Francis of Nond had pulled the unlucky straw and been stuck as Aquaman. This year, she had no doubt that Jon, with Josiane, would be doing another big combination costume.

 

So. A good costume was a priority. Something that would demonstrate to Josiane and all her hangers-on that, no matter who she was with, no matter how many smirks she got, it didn’t make a difference to her – something that showed that Alanna, alone, would stand proud.

 

Goddamn it.

 

She grabbed the card, checked the back, which read simply _Room 233, The Cloisters_ , and headed out the door.

 

She was Alanna Trebond, and if she wanted to fork over a small amount of cash for someone else to worry about this shit, then that was no one’s business but her own.

 

XXX

 

Daine had merely glanced at the card before she tossed it into her pile of rejected papers. Information, investigations and professional problem-solving? She would solve her own damn problems, the way she always had. And if she couldn’t, well, it wasn’t like she could afford to have someone come and solve them for her, was it? She was broke pretty much all the time! And most of the information she really needed, she got for free from people like Alanna, Numair, Sarge, Miri or Evin. She was lucky, that way – she had good friends.

 

They were going as Robin Hood and his Merry Men this year. Cliché? Definitely, and that’s what archers did best.

 

XXX

 

The Cloisters was the older of the two residences, and was considerably more confusing than the new residence. But it had its own charm, and Aly had unknowingly struck gold when she was assigned there. Her room, Room 233, was at the end of a hallway near a hastily constructed fire exit, no doubt made explicitly to comply with a new building code regulation. The construction had led to a turn in the hallway, and her room was effectively blocked out of the direct sight of other rooms on her floor.

 

It had both easy access and was secluded. It was perfect for the kind of business she intended on running. Not that she would really be earning much for a little while – she needed to develop her business first, prove to the student body that, established family or not, she knew what she was doing and her services were worth their price.

 

So far, she had gotten some curious inquiries, about ridiculous things that no doubt students could have figured out on their own. Neal Quinn-Cohen had dropped by to ask what Uline Hannalof would be wearing to the Halloween Hop; Aly had not only told him, but had broken his heart while she was at it.

 

“She’s going as Jasmine from Aladdin, and you may as well give up on her now – she’s interested in Kieran haMinch, and he’s as thick as a brick wall because he’s been madly in love with her since Midwinter Ball last year and hasn’t noticed. But he’s going as Aladdin, and unless they’re both idiots, which to be honest I’m not sure they both aren’t, they’re going to finally realize their feelings for each other at the dance and will spend all night snogging.”

 

She had subsequently felt a little sorry for him, though by her own guess he just liked the feeling of having a crush. She charged him five euros for the pain and told him, as a bonus, that it would be worth his while to dress as someone from Game of Thrones. He would cut a dashing figure as Jon Snow, and would probably have girls fawning on him for weeks as a result.

 

There was a firm knock at the door, which Aly had left open. She turned in her desk chair.

 

Alanna Trebond stood in her doorway, looking resigned and frustrated all at once.

 

Well, this could be interesting.

 

“Information, Investigations and Professional Problem-Solving, right?” she snapped. “I need someone to help me figure out what to wear to the Halloween Hop.”

 

Aly let a slow smile cross her face. This was good. This was _very_ good. This was the exact sort of social situation she wanted to be working with, and this was the kind of thing she needed to leverage to get better business later.

 

“By all means, come in and sit down. Close the door,” she said, gesturing at her bed. She needed to get better business furniture, stat. She had moved her desk around to make it look more like an office, but still hadn’t gotten another chair. She would work on that. “Tell me about it.”

 

“I’m not going to go through it all,” Alanna replied, rolling her eyes and settling herself on Aly’s bed. “And anyway, if you’re worth your cost, I’m sure you already know a lot of it. So why don’t you tell me what you think you know, and I’ll elaborate as necessary.”

 

Aly nodded, admiring the deft way that Alanna had handled the question. Aly liked using open-ended questions, because it let her confirm the information she already had and get more information. Alanna’s response put the power firmly in her hands; if Aly had any of her own information wrong, Alanna would be able to choose whether or not to correct her. Ah, well. She needed the business, and someone like Alanna merited the disadvantage.

 

“Last year, you and Jon De Conte had an intense relationship – in particular, you were voted Midwinter King and Queen, and you were rarely seen apart from each other.  A few weeks before the Midsummer Ball, you split up – you were visibly apart and were actively avoiding each other at that Ball. Both of your grades dropped at the end of last term, so the breakup likely happened sometime before final exams, or early in the exam season.” Aly took a deep breath. That much was fairly well supported with general witness testimony and her hacking of the school records system. Now, she would be heading into speculative territory. It wasn’t strictly necessary, but what could she say? She was curious.

 

“The reason the two of you broke up is not well known; however, based on your personalities, my guess is that it had to do with something political. You come from a traditionally conservative family, but you’re fencing, and you’re the first Trebond woman to do so; you’re a demonstrated rebel. Jon is not. He’s powerful in his own right, so he is unlikely to have a desire to change the status quo. Therefore, most likely cause – something political.

 

“So, you have a few problems now. First and foremost, you still have to work with Jon on the fencing team. Second, Jon has moved on to someone else, someone far less likely to question him, saving him face and strengthening his own position. Third, you need to demonstrate that, despite these problems, you’re unaffected. Am I wrong?”

 

Alanna shook her head slightly, though Aly guessed it wasn’t wholehearted agreement. Aly guessed there was likely something wrong in her assessment, but she was not going to be enlightened as to what. That didn’t sit well with her, but she gritted her teeth and continued.

 

“So, your immediate problem is using your costume at the Halloween Hop to strengthen your own position, and then hopefully reclaim and stabilize the fencing team as a whole.”

 

“Yes, that’s right,” Alanna said. “I was thinking something tough, but not something that needs a group. I don’t want to worry about it too much, either, so if you could just make the arrangements …”

 

“Hmm,” Aly replied, then grinned. “That can be arranged. I’ll need to think a bit about it – something polar opposite to what Josiane has arranged for Jon to wear would be ideal. I’ll make the arrangements.”

 

“Nothing skimpy, please,” Alanna added hastily. “And cost?”

 

Aly nodded, her blue eyes gleaming. “Of course, skimpy wouldn’t work for what you’re thinking anyway. As for cost… In your case, I want a copy of the fencing team roster manual – the one with all the data.”

 

Alanna hesitated, then her expression hardened. “Fine. Fair warning – you’ll get a copy current as of today’s date. It’s updated regularly, so you won’t get any additions after today. You will keep the fact that you have a copy secret and its contents confidential, though most of the information is public record – it’s mostly TFA competition records, which is the only reason you’re getting a copy.”

 

“Fair enough,” Aly agreed easily. It was a better deal than she was looking for – honestly, she had been willing to settle for half an hour with the book to memorize as much as she could. The fact that it was mostly competition records didn’t bother her – it would still be far easier than tracking down all the records herself. “Meet me here the night before the Halloween Hop and I’ll have your costume ready for you.”

 

XXX

 

The thing about the kendo team was that they gave 110% in everything they did – from kendo, to academics, to partying. This was how Kel and the members of the naginata team found themselves in Raoul Dulacdor’s room, along with most of the kendo team, watching him pour our drinks.

 

“We’re underage,” Kel stated baldly, tugging uncomfortably at her red-and-gold tie, as Dom shoved a rum and coke in her hand. From the smell, she guessed it was heavy on the rum. Most of her naginata team was similarly having cups shoved in their hands. Fianola and Sorcha merely looked at each other, shrugged and started drinking; Yvenne and Prosper were looking more uncertain.

 

“Your senpai will take care of you, don’t worry. We’re pre-drinking this shit,” Dom informed her cheerfully. “Want to know the secret to good budo? _Alcohol is the secret to good budo_. This is how we won last year’s intercollegiate – half the team was still drunk on the field. So, drink up!”

 

“My team members don’t have to drink if they don’t want to,” Kel replied firmly, sipping gingerly at her own drink. Kendo was allowed to make their own rules, and while she appreciated the community effort they put in with her own team, naginata was hers. She wouldn’t force alcohol on her own team members if they didn’t want it.

 

“Suit yourself,” Dom shrugged, while Hae draped an arm over his shoulders. She had already clearly had more than a couple drinks – she was louder than usual, most of her way to drunk.

 

“No worries, guys,” she slurred merrily. “Your senpai will take care of you, even if you’re not kendo kouhai. You’re still budo kouhai, and you don’t have your own senpai, so it’s good…. Let’s get _going_ , I’m at a comfortable level of tipsy for a party!”

 

By the time the kendo and naginata teams stumbled their way across campus to the Hop itself, they were in varying states of inebriation. Most of the naginata team, Kel included, were on the sober to mildly tipsy end, Fianola and Sorcha citing Irish ancestry in explanation, but the kendo team was in general far worse. Among the fifth years, Raoul had stopped drinking early on, noting that he was hitting the barrier between fun-drunk and depressed-drunk and wanted to stay on the fun side; Hae was hopelessly drunk, needing Midori to prop her up on the way to the dance, and both Flynn and Vanget were happily talkative. One of the second years, Cleon Kennan, had slung a friendly arm over her shoulders. She knew that most of the team still had flasks of rum stashed in their sleeves or in their gis, their Shinsengumi costumes providing ample space.

 

They could, Raoul had informed her, simply spike the punch at the dance, but that wasn’t their style. Kendoka got drunk, because drinking was as much as part of budo as practice, but they weren’t into forcing others to drink. Hence – every recruit that made it to the end of the year received their very own flask for these events. Kel simply didn’t have hers yet because they hadn’t made their end-of-the-year order yet, a fact for which Raoul was extremely, uncharacteristically, apologetic. Kel forgave him easily, though to be honest she wasn’t entirely sure she understood the reasoning.

 

The Halloween Hop was already bustling by the time they got there, and by the looks of it even if the kendo team didn’t spike the punch, someone clearly had. Kel made a face, loosened her tie again – the room reeked of humidity and sweat.

 

“Kel!” Neal barreled into her, only to be shoved off by Cleon, who frowned at the taller boy.

 

“Easy, there, Quinn,” he said, but Kel shrugged his arm off of her, laughing. Neal was almost unrecognizable – he had dyed his hair black and was wearing a heavy fur cloak, a long brown tunic-like shirt with buckle ties, and heavy black boots. He acknowledged Cleon with a nod, and turned to Kel.

 

“Are you supposed to be Hermione Granger? If so, you could have curled your hair…”

 

“No, it’s just a generic costume,” Kel explained, embarrassed. “The naginata team decided on them as a whole… is it a bad idea?”

 

“Bad? No, not really,” Neal shrugged. “It’s recognizable, and a lot of people really like Harry Potter, it’s one of those things that crosses boundaries. I like that you’ve chosen the Gryffindor tie, though; it’s very you.”

 

“Jon Snow, Meathead?” Dom interrupted, slapping his cousin on the shoulder. Standing side-by-side, Kel saw the family resemblance – Dom’s eyes were blue, rather than green, but both now had black hair and similar facial structures. It was a little unnerving. “You’ve even dyed your hair. Please change it back, stat – I feel like I am looking into a younger, slightly wonky version of myself.”

 

“You should be glad that I’m upping your cool factor then,” Neal retorted, scrutinizing Dom’s blue-and-white haori. “What are you supposed to be?”

 

“Shinsengumi,” Dom replied. “The police force organized by the Tokugawa Shogunate in the 1860s, who fought and bravely died for their ideals and… something. Anyway, apparently there’s this game called Hakuoki that girls love, and the girls on the team insisted.”

 

“Not me,” Kel said quickly, snorting in disgust. Popular girls’ video game or not, she had lived in Japan for almost ten years and she knew her history. When she found out what kendo had planned, she had been thoroughly grateful to have been exempted from that part of team spirit. “I was not part of that conversation. The Shinsengumi were, in real life, a brutal murdering squad that went around killing indiscriminately.”

 

“So… basically, you’re some unrecognizable historical figure that no one in the Western hemisphere would easily recognize?” Neal laughed. “The things you do for team spirit, Dom.”

 

Dom grinned, his eyes roving over Neal’s shoulder. “Sorry, cousin, but that green-eyed princess over there wants to fall in love with me, so I have to go.” He pulled out his flask, took a swig, put it back in his sleeve and waltzed over to, indeed, a green-eyed princess with dark brown hair and a bright gold circlet.

 

“Come on, Kel, moon of my stars,” Cleon scowled at Neal, who grinned easily in reply, and slung his arm over Kel’s shoulders again. “Dewdrop, let’s go dance.”

 

Kel rolled her eyes, mouthed the word “Drunk,” at Neal in explanation, and let Cleon lead her onto the dance floor. There was no harm in having a little fun, on Halloween night, no less.

 

XXX

 

Alanna looked in the mirror, impressed despite herself. Aly was good – Alanna would never have considered dressing as, essentially, herself. Or rather, not _herself_ , but a legendary version of herself.

 

Alanna the Lionness stared back at her from the mirror, violet eyes blinking, gold chainmail shining. It wasn’t true chainmail, of course – the rings were all plastic, merely painted with gold paint to make it bright and shining. They would wear out over time, but for one night, it should last. On her arm, she wore a light shield, made of foam and showing the famous red Lioness rampant. Aly had also shown her how she could tie it over her back instead – an all important thing if Alanna planned on doing any dancing. She had left her hair, frizzy red curls, loose about her shoulders – the Lioness, too, was famed for having wild red hair. It worked – Alanna Trebond looked like Alanna the Lioness, stepped right out of legend. The only thing of herself Alanna kept, which Aly told her would set everything off perfectly, was her own sabre – her first and favourite competition sabre, actually.

 

It was perfect, and Alanna shot herself a grin in the mirror before walking out of her room and walking across campus. She ran into Daran right inside the gymnasium, a brunnette she vaguely recognized as a fifth-year on his arm – Alacia, she thought her name was. Daran didn’t really date, so much as he had a group of girls who cheerfully occupied the mid-point between friend and snog partner. As good-looking as he was, with dark brown curls, chocolate eyes, and a fencer’s lean body, the only reason he got away with it was because he was absolutely clear with all of “his” girls that he didn’t really have any love other than fencing. He never made any promises – and never took things too far, either.

 

“Looking good, Trebond,” Daran said, eyeing her costume. “I like it. Very Northern.”

 

“Thanks, Daran,”Alanna smiled, looking him over too. “Jedi? Not very creative.”

 

“Well, I like it, and anyway I didn’t have any interest in what our section chief had planned,” he replied easily. He nodded over the front of the stage, where Jon, Gary, Francis, and many of the other fencers had gathered. Alanna squinted and recoiled slightly in horror when she caught sight of Josiane Rittevon, whose deep-cut dress was nude-coloured and gave the impression she wasn’t wearing anything.

 

“Oh, surely not,” she muttered. “What are they supposed to be?”

 

“I think the theme was Greek Gods,” Daran replied dryly. “Jon is, of course, Zeus, while Josie is Aphrodite.”

 

“She knows that Zeus was married to Hera, right?” Alanna asked faintly, while Alacia laughed at the expression on her face.

 

“Probably,” Alacia said, “but Hera’s costume would be rather dull, don’t you think? Goddess of the hearth, and all – goddess of love is much more her style. Anyway, Daran didn’t want to wear a toga.” She poked him rudely in the side, mock-pouting.

 

“Huh,” Alanna murmured, still staring, flabbergasted. Not that Jon didn’t look good in a bedsheet, but the overall look was rather … tacky. Most of the rest of the costumes weren’t sufficiently distinguishable, though Alanna guessed that Francis was Hermes. Or possibly Apollo? Interestingly, none of the female fencers had joined that group or dressed to match, though Alanna could certainly name a handful of Greek goddesses off the top of her head. The overall look was one of the goddess Josiane, surrounded by a harem of top fencers in togas.

 

“Off-putting, isn’t it?” Daran shuddered. “She’s terrifying, really. Alacia and I are going to go find somewhere quieter for a minute or two – we’ll catch you later.”

 

Alanna waved him off, smirking. Turning into the gym, she plunged into the crowds, saying hello to classmates and teammates. Her costume, as Aly had said, was perfect – she had many compliments, a few favourable comparisons to the rest of the fencing crowd, and a number of conversations with interested classmates and teammates with whom, for some, she hadn’t chatted in months. She steered clear of the front of the stage, where Jon and Josiane were holding court, but both Gary and Francis swung by to congratulate her on an excellent costume choice and to catch up. She grabbed a glass or two of the spiked punch, and, when George Cooper, casually shirtless and in an outfit that could only have come from a fighting game, asked for a dance, she gratefully accepted.

 

On reflection, it was easy to see the outburst coming. The costume, or maybe it was just the confidence that Alanna had wearing the costume, made her feel almost as though the entire last year hadn’t happened. At some point, she spoke with nearly everyone on the fencing team and most of her and Jon’s mutual friends as though nothing had happened – as though Jon hadn’t happened. It wasn’t that they were taking her side or anything so contentious – they simply didn’t mention it, keeping the conversation focused on the things they had in common: the moment, the costumes, fencing, schoolwork, future plans, and so on. It was simple, easy, and of course Josiane Rittevon would notice.

 

“Trebond,” she said, smiling, coming across the floor to where Alanna stood, with George Cooper’s hand resting on her shoulder. Her smile was beautiful, but her eyes were sharp as a viper.

 

“Rittevon,” Alanna replied, though she didn’t return the smile.

 

“Beautiful costume,” she chirped, eyeing it carefully. “A little… uncreative, though, don’t you think? I mean, you’re basically dressed as a legendary version of yourself. You even share her name.”

 

Alanna opened her mouth to respond, something along the lines of “Creativity? I don’t see how Greek Gods is particularly creative,” but someone beat her to the response.

 

“Honestly, I think that’s the brilliance of the costume, though,” Elenna Smythesson said, appearing at Alanna’s side like a ghost. She was dressed like a witch, but had clearly aimed for cute rather than frightening. “You would never think of dressing as yourself for Halloween, would you? Or your own ancestor. It’s Halloween. I like it – she’s herself and yet not herself, all at once.”

 

Josiane huffed, a soft _chuff_ of air only slightly more ladylike than an actual snort. “No one asked you – you’re about the most uncreative thing there is, a _witch_ , really? No wonder you fencing girls can’t find a date.”

  
Her last sentence rang clearly out in the room, unluckily coinciding with a lull in the music and conversation, and Josiane quickly found herself the target of a dozen fencers’ glares. The funny part of it, Alanna thought, was that Josiane hadn’t said anything to Alanna herself but had instead addressed it to Elenna. Not only that, but what she said hadn’t even made sense – many of the fencing girls did, in fact, have dates. Mackenzie Seabeth, for example, had been dating Laurence Niedes, fifth-year, musician and the guitarist in Merging Moon, for three years and counting.

 

“Josiane,” Gary said, a soft note of warning in his voice. Of course, what Vinson Genlith had said to Elenna the previous year wasn’t well known, but Gary had a protective streak about his epeeists. “Apologize.”

 

“Why?” Josiane asked, her pretty face screwed up with annoyance. “All I said was that her costume was, like, the least creative thing ever. And it is! She’s a _witch_!”

 

“You said a lot more than that, Josie,” Jon replied heavily. Even though he was addressing her, he wasn’t looking at her, but was rather looking bleakly off to one side, avoiding her eyes. “You should apologize.”

 

Josiane glared at him and threw her hands in the air dramatically. “You _never_ take my side!” she cried, bursting into loud, conspicuous tears, and stormed out of the gymnasium.

 

Silence reigned for another moment, before nervous laughter broke in bubbles throughout the room and the band awkwardly started into another song, a slow one.

 

“Well,” George drawled, letting go of Alanna’s shoulder and turning towards Elenna. “I think you look great. Do you want to dance?”

 

Alanna smiled and let the awkward moment pass. It was good of George, though, she thought, that his first thought was to offer to assuage Elenna’s hurt feelings.

 

XXX

 

The next school day, the fencing girls as a whole abandoned the traditional fencing table at lunch, along with half of the fencers that still sat there. The Cavalls and Smythessons, in their not inconsiderable numbers, joined Alanna and Daine; many of the others chose to sit with other friends.

 

Aly eyed Jon De Conte carefully from her table with a lot of the martial artists. He looked tired, and she caught a glimmer of darkness in his eyes when he scanned the tables for the fractured fencing team. Beside him, Josiane laughed all the harder for the emptiness of their table. It was a job well done, and if she judged it right, it was about time for him to seek professional problem-solving for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for following along! I love your comments and your kudos, and I love all of you who are still reading this odd story! I hope you've enjoyed this universe's version of Aly!
> 
> Aly is an interesting character to write because, unlike our other protagonists, she thinks about pretty much everything politically. So even though she thinks of conversations as strategies, that's not necessarily how other characters see it. For example, when Alanna tells her to explain what she already understands of her problem, Alanna's not outmaneuvering her - she's just trying to save time explaining. Aly just sees everything in terms of politics. In terms of political thinking, Aly is definitely one end of the spectrum and Daine is the complete opposite - she just doesn't care enough. Both Alanna and Kel fall in the middle, where they appreciate it's importance but prefer not to think too much about it. Between the two of them, Kel is better at political maneuvering whereas Alanna tends to just get lucky.
> 
> Re: Budo and drinking - true story, drinking culture is a huge part of budo culture too. I actually do know a team that once won intercollegiates by getting so drunk the night before that three of them stumbled into the ring still drunk. I haven't tried it though, unfortunately. And lest anyone worry about underage drinking, I remind you all that many countries have more liberal alcohol policies. In this fictional version of Tortall, the formal drinking age is 18 (i.e. you need to be 18 to buy alcohol), but younger persons can drink with people who are over 18 and a glass of wine with dinner is a pretty natural occurrence. 
> 
> Next Chapter: The Japanese Tortallan Cultural Centre Junior / Senior Tournament! And possibly that bit of foreshadowing at the end.


	10. The JTCC Tournament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kel heads to her first kendo tournament, learns the true depths of budo alcohol consumption, and plays her first kendo matches in competition. Be warned: there is a lot of kendo in this chapter.

 

On the first Friday in November, Kel dashed straight from her last class to her room, grabbed her already packed bogu and overnight bags, and dashed again to the front of the school, dodging classmates the entire way. It never ceased to amaze her how many of her fellow students had their own cars; sure, most shared them with a sibling, but the fact remained. Even so, the kendo team fell short.

 

They had nineteen heading to Corus this weekend, with three cars among them: Emmett Fenrigh got keys for the Fenrigh car from his older brother, Dom had his own, and Vanget haMinch had swiped the family car from his cousin Padraig. However, with Raoul pulling strings and borrowing Jon De Conte’s car for the weekend, they had just enough space for an extremely crowded three-hour drive to Corus. Kel found herself, in short order, squished between Alice Lee and Evelyn Tarell in the back of Dom’s car, her overnight bag balanced on her lap. Seiji Nakamura, a third-year kendoka, had gotten lucky and claimed the front seat.

 

“Why can’t _I_ be driving four instead of five?” Dom complained, “I have the smallest car…”

 

“A fact which was taken into account by the fact you’re driving the three smallest girls in the backseat and less equipment than the other cars,” Evelyn retorted grouchily. “And you’re not the one stuffed like sardines in the backseat of your disturbingly damaged car, so… let’s just get where we’re going, okay?”

 

“Raoul says we’re stopping for dinner in Port Caynn, so we’ll at least get a break there. At the Benny’s on the first exit right after we turn off the A6 onto the A1,” Seiji said, tapping on his phone. “I just got the text from Hae Min.”

 

“Did they call ahead and make a reservation?” Alice asked, leaning forward. “We can’t just surprise the Benny’s with nineteen people…” It was common knowledge that Alice and Seiji were together, though Kel had only learned such at the Halloween Hop. They weren’t demonstrative, so the only real hint was the fact that Alice, normally rather quiet and anxious, was calmer and more talkative when he was around.

 

“I’ll ask,” Seiji said, as Dom fiddled with the music controls and pulled out of the school onto the route to Blue Harbour.

 

“Rise Against?” he asked generally, to murmurs of assent from the others. “We’ll have to make dinner quick, though – my parents are at a benefit concert tonight, so I have to get home first to let everyone in. At least you’ll get pick of sleeping spots for the weekend.”

 

They were staying the weekend in Corus – the JTCC tournament itself would be on Saturday, and there was a formal Tortallan Kendo Federation grading on Sunday in which several of their members would be trying for their next ranks. After that, there would be a godokeiko, a group practice with members from other dojos for anyone who wished to stay around. Raoul had said that they would stick around after the grading only for a few hours, given that they needed to make the three hour drive back to school and would probably be wiped anyway. Kel was glad she had gotten ahead of her work – at least she wouldn’t need to take care of homework when they returned on Sunday. Dom and Cleon hadn’t been so lucky – both had upcoming tests and had had to bring their textbooks with them.

 

Seiji’s phone beeped, and he swiped it open. “No reservation, I guess when we get there we’ll just sit at different tables if we need to. And Hae Min says their car will be stopping to pick up the beer.”

 

Kel sighed and settled in for a long ride.

 

XXX

 

It was four and a half hours later when Kel finally tumbled out of Dom’s car onto an expansive driveway. They had done two hours from the school to Port Caynn, Dom speeding most of the way (strangely, no one except Kel seemed to mind), and were first into the Benny’s just off the A1; they didn’t quite rush dinner, but they didn’t linger either.

 

Looking up at the Masbolle residence, Kel was impressed despite herself. She had known that Masbolle was the primary Tortallan car manufacturer and the only internationally recognized Tortallan car brand, but somehow she hadn’t connected it with the logical monetary conclusion. The Masbolle residence was, simply put, extravagant – it was huge, on a plot of land that, even in outer Corus, had to have gone for several million euros. Stylistically, the mansion was elegant, in an older fashion – perhaps Georgian? She wasn’t sure. In either case, it was the sort of place where Kel could envision Dom’s forebears hosting extravagant parties, with neat cars lining the drive and a view of perfectly sculpted lawns. Beside her, both Evelyn and Alice looked similarly impressed, though Seiji looked perfectly at ease.

 

“Stop gaping, Mindelan,” Dom said, shoving her bogu bag into her hands. “All the Masbolle riches means is that we get a nice, spacious, free place to stay. It’s a publicly traded company now, so it’s the shareholders that get most of the Masbolle profits… and the house was passed down from my grandparents, so it’s actually not quite as nice on the inside.”

 

“Stop trying to be modest, Masbolle,” Evelyn replied, smacking him on the side. “Your house is just _obscenely_ large. As in, it could feasibly house four families in the Lower City, and how much of the company does the Masbolle family still own? Thirty percent? Twenty?”

 

“Twenty, but it’s split between my dad’s family and my uncle’s,” Dom shrugged. “It’s not as much wealth as you would think. In any case, there are three extra bedrooms, and my room – my brother’s moved out, so we can use his room, too. But a couple of the bedrooms are kind of cold, they’re in the basement. And there’s the den, too, and since we won’t be using the formal dining room or the formal sitting room, we can sleep in there, too.”

 

“I’m sure we’ll all find somewhere,” Seiji said, shaking his head. “Where did the team stay before you came around?”

 

On the inside, Kel could see what Dom had meant – although the house was certainly large and luxurious, most of the furnishings were faded and worn, and the room that Kel, Alice and Evelyn chose to stay in was dusty. The main areas were perfectly fine, but it was clear that many rooms were usually simply blocked off, unused, for most of the year. Their room featured a large double bed, done in an eye-smarting shade of pink (“So clearly we’ll be the only ones to pick this room,” Evelyn had said, satisfied), and enough floor space before the fireplace for a bedroll.

 

 “Not staying with Seiji?” Evelyn asked, once they had unpacked and settled in. “God, this room is going to stink of bogu before the end of the weekend. I almost feel bad…”

 

“We’ve only been seeing each other since the summer,” Alice replied, coloring slightly. “And it’s not appropriate at a tournament anyway… and don’t you have a bar of soap in your bogu bag? Like Hae told us last year…”

 

“A takesumi bag works better,” Kel added. She had come to know both girls well through their usual practice, though she was not as close to them as they were to each other. Evelyn usually spoke for the both of them, and the way she explained it, there were some things you couldn’t come through without becoming close, and first year kendo was one of them.

 

“Unfortunately, it is absurdly difficult, even with the internet, to get them shipped in from Japan to Tortall,” Evelyn rolled her eyes. “Shipping costs and all. Want to pick some up for us when you’re next in Japan?”

 

Kel laughed. “I don’t think I will be going back for a while – my parents were recalled to Corus over the summer. I heard last that they will be in Corus for about two years, then will be redeployed to Malaysia.”

 

Evelyn sighed. “It was worth a shot. We may as well go down, I think I heard some voices – sounds like some of the others are here.”

 

True to her word, when they reached the front lobby, both of the cars driven by Emmett Fenrigh and Vanget haMinch had come in and were unloading, with Dom “supervising”. Both the cars looked as though they had it well in hand, though, and being upper-years none of them looked particularly surprised by Dom’s house.

 

“Vanget and I will take the den again,” Flynn said, as the girls approached. “It suited us well. Has the captain arrived yet?”

 

“No, they texted and said they were at the market, picking up snacks and beer,” Dom replied. “They’ll be here in an hour or so.”

 

“Great,” Aiden chipped in, hefting his bogu bag, a traditional cloth bag with string ties, over his shoulder and picking up a duffel bag in his other hand. “Where are we meeting after that?”

 

“Formal dining room,” Dom replied, waving one hand. “It’s big enough.”

 

By the time Raoul’s car made it in, snacks and alcohol in tow, most of the team had unpacked and was settled in the formal dining room. The room was a cavernous construction, clearly designed to be far more than just a formal dining room, but rather more like a small ballroom. The ceilings were high, vaulted, and Kel spotted a long balcony overlooking the room from the second level. In contrast to the balcony lining one side of the room, arched windows dotted the other half. At the head of the room hung a gilt portrait, done in oil, of a tall, imposing man with heavy brows, black eyes and black sideburns; at the other end, modern photographs lined the dark mahogany panelling. Kel could just spot a family portrait of Dom, a person who could only be Dom’s older brother, and his parents. Even with most of the team already in the room, there was plenty of space. About half the team pulled chairs from the long dining table, while the rest of them had found places on the floor. A few team members had brought their sleeping rolls with them, turning them into comfortable places to sit.

 

“All right, guys,” Raoul said, walking in and dumping two cases of beer onto the long dining room table. His load was quickly followed by six more cases, and Qasim began pulling out the beers and passing them around. He took a position in the middle of the floor, looked around, made eye contact with every member of the kendo team, and raised a hand to signal silence.

 

“You know the drill. This is how we won intercollegiates last year, but even with the beer boost, we probably won’t polish off JTCC the same way. But that’s no excuse not to do better than our best and to hold ourselves in the competition as long as we can. This is the biggest and baddest kendo tournament in Tortall; this is where they pick Team Tortall for 2018.  We drink, and tomorrow we fight, and some months from now, our seniors become prospects for Team Tortall. Understood?”

 

Team members exchanged looks, some amused, others resigned, cracked open their drinks and started drinking.

 

XXX

 

Staggering into the Japanese Tortallan Cultural Centre the next morning, Kel reflected that, of all the traditions she wanted to put into her naginata team, drinking culture was _definitely_ not one of them. Not that she had anything against alcohol in and of itself, but before a competition? It was a little much, and Kel didn’t see how anyone could perform better when their mouth still tasted disgusting, even after a thorough brushing, their head pounded, and the lights were a little too bright. Looking at the other girls, Alice looked as though she would throw up (though Evelyn assured her that had nothing to do with the alcohol), and based on the way Hae was staring at the other teams, Kel guessed she was still slightly tipsy. Most of the rest of the team were in similar states of distress.

 

The tournament opened with the individual competitions, which were split into divisions by rank. The mudansha, beginner, division would be fought first, followed by the shodan and nidan, the journeyman, category, then the sandan and up, or advanced, category.  The women’s division was fought separately, between the journeyman and the advanced category, but Kel was interested to note that the women’s division was not divided into ranks. None of the Crown Academy kendoka would be fighting in the sandan category, which at least gave them a long lunch. Kel herself had chosen not to compete in the individuals that morning – she was here for the team, but she had been in bogu matches for all of six weeks at this point and had no interest in humiliating herself further. Particularly given how she was feeling that morning, she was thankful she had chosen not to sign up for it.

 

The teams were played on a randomly generated direct elimination ladder, and would not be divided by ranks. The women would play first, then the men’s. For the women’s team, Kel would be playing sempo, first, position, and Alice and Evelyn were playing jiho and chuken, second and third, positions. Midori was playing fukusho, fourth, position and Hae would round out the team playing taisho, or captain. Based on the competition ladder that had been passed around earlier, the women’s team competition would be small – only six teams in total. Crown hadn’t pulled the lucky straw on either end, however, and would have to fight through three teams to take the first place trophy. According to Hae, though, the two teams that received byes to the semi-finals were probably the strongest women’s teams in the country – one from the Lower City, the other from Port Caynn.

 

The men’s team competition was substantially larger, with sixteen teams in total. Raoul had put together two teams among the boys, splitting the talent almost evenly across the board. Crown A, was formed of second-year Cleon Kennan, third year Seiji Nakamura, fourth-year Aiden Zhou, Flynn Whiteford, and Raoul himself as taisho. Crown B was formed of Dom, Lerant Eldorne, the fourth-years Qasim ibn Zirhud and Toshuro Akaneru, with Vanget haMinch as taisho. There were four boys that had been left out of teams, much to their disappointment, but they would still be competing individually.

 

Looking around, Kel noticed that the JTCC was a lot more crowded than she was accustomed to. She had practiced out of the JTCC Naginata Club throughout the summer, but naginata practices were Wednesday nights and on Sunday afternoons – not busy days. She had never seen the centre so crowded – there were at least a hundred kendoka milling about, and she was sure there were more in Kawasaki Hall itself, where the actual tournament would be taking place. Nevertheless, the JTCC competition had taken over the whole centre; the front lobby was filled with tables, the Oak Room had been set aside as an equipment room, and the main hallway had been filled with exhibitors. The UK bogu suppliers, Nine Circles, had the pride of place, through Kel spotted a small booth run by All Japan Budogu, and a few others. 

 

Kel was relieved, on reflection,that Raoul had forced them all to change into their gi and hakama at Dom’s place. The others had team jackets to wear over their uniforms, in the school colours of blue and silver, but like the team flasks, they simply hadn’t made hers yet. It didn’t matter, in any case – in the tournament hall itself, no one would be wearing their jackets. At the moment, however, she spotted jackets in several colours. There was a group of girls dressed in red and white jackets, heads together, in one corner of the Oak Room; a group wearing a deep, royal blue with gold detailing that she recognized as being from Royal University; another group wearing light grey jackets with the words “The Lower City” emblazoned across their back.

 

“Lower City is probably the toughest dojo in Corus,” Midori murmured in her ear, and when Kel turned to look at her, she flicked her eyes over to the group in light grey. She looked remarkably well-put together, even though Kel was _sure_ she saw the girl put away four or five beers on her own last night. She put her bogu and shinai bags down in a mercifully empty corner, motioning the rest of the team to do the same. “They’re a big group – three teams in men’s, one in women’s. And the red and white in the corner is from Mt Sarryn University, they just have the one team here. And that slate-gray with blue detailing over there is the Port Caynn College team. Grab one of your shinai – we’ll find a clear space and call warmup.”

 

Kel had been through a lot of warmups in her life – she had first picked up a naginata when she was five, had started competing in kid tournaments in Japan when she was eight. Competitions always started with warmup, usually with a larger group in naginata, though it varied. But this warmup… this one was worst Kel had ever experienced. Her stomach felt like it was _bouncing_ , which she supposed it was, all throughout the hayasuburi exercise, but she felt like she was going to throw up. They were all moving a little slower than usual, and Raoul cut them off at a hundred strikes rather than the usual 120.

 

“Good job, team,” he panted, which ought to have been a sign of the team’s condition in and of itself. “We’ll stop here today. Kel, you’ll be a runner this morning – keep track of where everyone is supposed to be, make sure that absolutely none of us forfeits a match by accident. That goes for everyone else, too – if you’re not competing, you’re cheering or running, but you’re not standing around. Today is about the team -- whatever isn’t kendo or isn’t about the team, isn’t what you do today.”

 

For Kel, it felt like the morning flew by. Most of the team was competing in one of the three divisions – the other four girls were in the women’s division, of course, and the rest of the second years and half of the third years were competing in the beginner category. Dom, Seiji, and all of the fourth and fifth years were competing in the journeyman category, and no one from Crown Academy was sufficiently experienced to compete in the advanced category.

 

Throughout the individual competitions, Kel could tell instantly that Raoul hadn’t been making pleasantries the night before. The beginner category was huge, more than fifty competitors, and about half of the Crown Academy boys had been eliminated in their first matches. Only one, Cleon Kennan, made it to his third match, but he was eliminated by a tall, lanky youth from the University of Corus. In the journeyman category, similarly large, they fared little better – most of the team was eliminated by the second match. Dom made it to his fourth match, but was eliminated by a kendoka from the Lower City. Only Raoul made it to the semi-final, but lost there. Unusually for a kendo tournament, there was no play-off for third place.

 

The women’s team fared better, though both of the second-year girls were eliminated straight off. Evelyn had an unlucky first match with a Corinne Kim, a stocky girl from The Lower City who went on to win the women’s division generally; Dom whispered to Kel midway through the match that the girl had been on the 2015 national team. Alice was eliminated in a closely fought match with one of the girls from Mount Sarryn, one whom, according to Raoul, she really ought to have won against. The girl she had lost to was subsequently eliminated by Midori, who played through to the finals and placed second. Hae, unfortunately, faced off against Corinne in semi-finals and lost, tying third overall.

 

None of the Crown Academy team played in the advanced division. Tortallan Kendo Federation rules required that shodan candidates be at least thirteen years of age, meaning that even people like Midori and Hae, who had done kendo prior to coming to Crown, didn’t have much of an advantage.

 

XXX

 

By the time the afternoon rolled around, Kel couldn’t tell who was worse: Raoul, or Hae. Hae had spent most of the lunch hour emphasizing to the rest of the girls the need to _win win win_ and hammering in strategy; even Midori, mild-mannered Midori, had eventually snapped and told her firmly to shut it, because couldn’t she see that Alice was on the verge of a panic attack?

 

It was telling, Kel thought, pulling on her armour, that Midori had been the one to speak up rather than Raoul. Normally, Raoul kept good control over his team, but he had fallen quiet over the lunch hour, spending more and more of his time watching other teams. The rest of the team was reacting to the pressure in their own particular ways – some had parked themselves near the tournament brackets, debating with teammates over their chances, while others were examining their equipment for damages. A few had taken their shinai out for some more warmup – others were simply sitting, watching, chatting.

 

“We’re up first against the University of Corus team,” Hae said. Kel and Alice were the only ones who had to fully suit up when a team match began; the others would put on their men on when the match actually started, and only the captain would be wearing it when they bowed out. “U of C is all right, even though they’re gaming the system.”

 

She was frowning, and for good reason. Even Midori had raised an eyebrow when she saw the U of C team. They only had four girls, for one – they were missing the taisho. Even though Crown would be walking in with at least on guaranteed victory, they had arranged their team to face the four weakest opponents of every other team, relying on three wins against the weaker members of other teams. But what had Hae so disgruntled wasn’t merely the fact that she wouldn’t get a fight; it was the fact that the U of C girls had reversed the traditional order.

 

Normally, a kendo team competition was arranged so that the weakest members of the team played first, and the strongest played last. There was a little room to move things around – at Crown, they had done it in order of seniority, so although Midori and Hae were about the same level (Dom had whispered that, in terms of tournaments, Midori had actually done better), Hae was a fifth-year while Midori was a fourth-year, so Hae took the taisho position.

 

U of C, however, had done the reverse. They were riding on wins in the first three matches to win them the match, and take them to the semi-final.

 

“Ok, so, Kel,” Hae hissed, from down the line. Alice, sitting beside her, poked her in the side, and Kel pulled her stings on her men, her helmet, tight before her head to face the rest of the line. They were all kneeling in _seiza_ , the formal kneeling position favoured by the Japanese and in budo, lining their side of the court. “She’s tough, experienced – she’s got her nidan already. Just keep her from scoring too many points on you – I won’t be able to catch up on a two point loss.”

 

Kel tilted her head in acknowledgement, her eyes moving towards the referees, who were moving into position. She stood up, jumping once or twice to make sure her _bogu_ settled on her, working out extra nerves. She’d been in competitions before, she scolded herself silently. Why was she so nervous now? Kendo wasn’t so different than naginata, except, well, pretty much everything on the physical side. But competitions were more about mental fortitude, so really, she shouldn’t be nervous at all. Right?  And maybe she couldn’t really expect to score a point, but holding out for three minutes wouldn’t be too bad. She could do that.

 

“Shiro - Mindelan- _senshu!_ ” the _yobidashi_ called out.

 

“ _Hai!_ ” Kel answered, thrusting her right arm into the air and entering the shiai-jo. She and her opponent both knelt, stiffly, drawing their shinai, and rose again, settling into the traditional guard.

 

“ _Hajime!_ ” the chief judge called, lowering his flags, and Kel went flying.

 

In retrospect, she thought grimly, picking herself up, she had no idea why she had thought holding out for three minutes against the most skilled girl from the University of Corus wouldn’t be _too bad_. She had been in bogu in kendo for all of a month; what was she expecting? Thankfully, she hadn’t gone down outside the shiai-jo, so she wouldn’t get a penalty for it, but her head was ringing, and from the perspective of dominance on the court, she was already lost. She set herself back into guard, this time slightly more prepared for the assault on her head.

 

The other girl, screaming, launched another attack and this time Kel stepped forward, meeting her in the strike and holding her ground. She pushed back, loosing a _hiki-men_ , a head strike with a retreat backwards, but no point. She was too close to the edge of the shiai-jo. It was time to move around, get some more space for herself, but while she was thinking the other girl launched a third attack and this one landed true.

 

“ _Men-ari!_ ” Kel saw the red flags flying up from the judges and followed the other girl back to the centre. She shook her head, slightly, not enough to be noticeable and just enough to try to shake the pain off. She guessed less than half a minute had passed. She would need to step up her game if she hoped to hold out for the next few minutes.

 

“ _Nihon-me!_ ”

 

This time Kel took the offensive, and launched an attack. The other girl ducked back, dodging, and swung her shinai around, and while Kel’s arms were up, landed a sharp blow on her _do_ , her chest-plate.

 

“ _Do-ari!_ ” Kel heard the second point called, and sighed softly. She had barely moved from the start position this time, and it was the work of a second for her to bow out of the ring.

 

“Sorry,” she murmured, leaning down so that Evelyn, Midori and Hae could hear her. Alice was already being called into the dojo. She pulled off her helmet – it had only been a few seconds, less than a minute, but she was panting.

 

“Don’t worry,” Midori murmured back. “We didn’t really expect you to hold out against her – I’ll get you back.”

 

Alice’s match went better – it was clearly a closely matched game, and while the girl from the University of Corus scored first, Alice caught up with another minute of pitched fighting, and the match ended _ikkiwake_ , tied. Alice came back, panting heavily, but looking very satisfied with herself. She patted Evelyn on the shoulder as the other girl went in.

 

Evelyn’s match similarly ended in a tie, though Kel was summarily impressed by the other girl’s sheer _volume_. Evelyn simply out-shouted the other girl; even if no points were awarded, she clearly dominated the match. Kel would have to reconsider her thoughts about kendo _kiai_ s; simply put, Evelyn was intimidating, and it did throw her opponent off her game. The match didn’t end in a win only because Evelyn’s form wasn’t polished enough, but had the match gone to _hantei_ , judges’ decision, she thought they would have pulled a win out of it.

 

Hae had a slightly crazed grin on her face by the time Midori went into her match. “We’ve already won it,” she whispered, as Evelyn knelt down and began pulling off her helmet. “There’s no way Midori won’t win this, and that means we’ll move into the next round. Good job, both of you.”

 

Kel was not a fan of counting her chickens before they had hatched, but she reluctantly admitted that Hae had a point. Midori, simply put, outmatched her opponent. She scored her first point, a quick wrist strike, almost at the second the match opened; her second point, a solid head strike, followed only three seconds later. Less than five seconds into the match, she had carried a win, and the Crown Academy girls’ team was going to semi-finals.

 

Kendo was not a strategic sort of sport, Kel thought, so there was no reason why Hae had pulled them together for a “strategy meeting” while the Port Legann and Mt Sarryn University fought it out for the fourth spot in the semi-finals. The winner of the Legann/Sarryn match would be going up, much to Hae’s relief, with The Lower City next, while they would be facing off against the highly skilled but slightly less intimidating Port Caynn Kendo Club team.

 

“All right, so I know that most of us didn’t pull off a win in the last match,” she said, particularly glaring at Alice and Evelyn, “but forget about it. Midori and I will take you apart over it in practice later, so right now, time to get your head in the game. Evelyn, I’ve told you time and time again to watch your distance – you had good hits with great _seme_ , but you were too close for them to count as points. Alice, great point, just carry it through and pull a second one next time. Your only problem is confidence. You made a good comeback last time, but it came a little too late – there was a huge difference between how you played before your point and how you played after. Play with confidence, and the points will come. Kel, it was your first match, and it was against the top girl from U of C, so well done – but try not to get so many points on you in the next one.”

 

“Hai, hai,” Evelyn replied, resigned, as Kel and Alice nodded.

 

Walking into the _shiai-jo_ for the second time, Kel eyed her opponent thoughtfully. The girl was smaller than her, but almost certainly more experienced. However, _she_ was still very much an unknown quantity. She was overmatched the last time, but with less than thirty seconds of play, there wouldn’t have been time for a thorough analysis of her ability. A match was as much a head game as it was a physical game, and if she kept it together, maybe she wouldn’t pull a win out of it but she could certainly put her opponent off her game enough to do better.

 

This time when the start was called, Kel was ready. She launched her first attack right away, aiming for a wrist strike followed by a head strike, but the other girl blocked. Nevertheless, Kel followed up on her advantage, aggressively pushing the other girl backwards. Through the bars on her helmet, she could see the other girl’s eyes, sea-green, widen in surprise. Kel slammed forward to meet the other girl in _taiatari_ , body-to-body, which she knew would put her size advantage to best use, then shoved the other girl back. She stumbled, then took one step back – one step too far.

 

_“Yame!_ ” Kel heard the referees call, and she let up, retreating to the centre of the shiai-jo again. The head judged waved the red flag down at the other girl, signing the _hansoku_ , the penalty. The other girl acknowledged the penalty with a nod.

 

It wasn’t a point, unless she shoved the other girl out of the ring a second time, but it was a start.

 

The second time the match started, the other girl was ready for Kel’s charge, swinging around and meeting her in pressure. She growled something meaningless, and Kel found herself growling back in challenge, pushing the other girl. They stood there, glaring, pushing a few moments, when the other girl moved for a head strike moving backwards. Kel saw it coming, though and followed through, trying for body strike, but her aim was a bit off – the sound wasn’t right. She turned neatly, ready for a second attempt, but the other girl had already launched her own attack. Kel intercepted her, trying a head block followed by another body strike, but no luck.

 

They were both panting, by this point. Kel watched the other girl carefully, seeing the girl’s eyes furrowing, sizing her up. It was a lull in the match, a moment where the players stepped back and took stock of the situation. Kel’s head was spinning, just a little – she had noticed that kendoka put more of their arms into their strikes, unlike naginataka who were expected to use their whole bodies. The result was harder strikes, but less control. It ached, just a little, but not enough to be a true distraction.

 

The moment lasted, it felt, like only a few seconds before the other girl threw herself into a new attack. Kel pushed forward, having no intention of being backed out of the ring as she had the other girl, and found herself body-to-body again, their guards locked. Kel pushed hard, putting the pressure on, when the other girl suddenly disengaged, throwing a second _hiki-men_ , head strike moving backwards, as Kel stumbled forward.

 

“ _Men-ari_!” Kel heard the call. She grimaced, slightly, but it was only one point, and she could catch up on that if her opponent got another penalty.

 

The second the flags dropped, Kel went for a head strike. She had to catch up before time was called, or they would lose the match. She had no idea how much time was left, but certainly less than half – they had spent some time, she thought, pushing each other around in the middle. The girl blocked, and went for a body strike, but Kel could tell from the snap that it hadn’t connected properly. She turned, trying for a wrist strike as the other girl followed through, but no point.

 

_“JIKAN-DESU!”_ The girl, a beginner from Royal University, shouted, thrusting a yellow flag in the air. Kel let out the breath that she didn’t realize she was holding, and solemnly bowed out of the ring. It was a win for the other side, but as a one-point win, it was still helpful for her teammates. One point was easy to catch up on.

 

“Good job,” Evelyn whispered to her as Kel knelt into _seiza_ to pull off her helmet.

 

“Thanks,” Kel shot her teammate a quick smile.

 

Alice tied again, putting up a long and persistent fight. Her opponent was very aggressive – she was pushed out of the ring once, and pushed to the ground six or seven times, but got up each time to continue fighting. Despite having been downed several times, her opponent never actually managed to score a point on her. By the time she staggered out of the ring, collapsing onto the ground rather than kneeling gracefully to pull off her helmet, Kel was thoroughly impressed. Midori leaned over and patted her sympathetically on the shoulder.

 

Evelyn had worse luck – she lost her match, by a single point. She bowed politely to her opponent, but exchanged a slight scowl with Hae, out of sight of the judges. Still, even with two losses and a tie, they were only actually down two points. She glanced down and to her right – Alice had her eyes shut, still panting slightly, and Evelyn was frowning. Hae’s dark brown eyes were sharp, her lips pursed slightly, glancing repeatedly between Midori, who was taking the opportunity to stretch out, and her opponent, and short, stocky girl whose name-tag read “Ikeda”. Looking carefully at Midori, she could just make out the older girl’s expression of polite disinterest under the bars of the helmet.

 

When the start was called, both girls immediately charged and collided with a crash, screaming. Midori was a pinch louder, Kel thought, though that might have more to do with her pitch rather than volume – Ikeda’s voice was a little lower than Midori’s, letting Midori’s note cut through like glass. They were too close for a true point to be scored, and struggled for a moment, two, in close-range combat before Midori pulled out and hit a head strike moving backwards. Flags flew up, red, and Kel caught the look of pleased satisfaction on Midori’s face as the point was formally awarded.

 

The match was over almost the second the flags went down to signal the start. Midori darted in, less aggressively than the first time, and landed a wrist strike before Ikeda had even managed to raise her shinai for her own strike.

 

“And that’s how a Team Tortall prospect does it,” Kel heard Evelyn whisper in Alice’s ear. Both of the second-years were wide-eyed, and Alice’s mouth was hanging agape. “And now we’re tied on score, so as long as Hae wins…”

 

“It’s all on you,” Midori murmured, clapping Hae on the shoulder as they passed each other, Midori to sit back down in the team line-up and Hae to her position on deck. “ _Ganbatte_.”

 

Hae nodded, and let out a long breath she had been holding. “Thanks,” she replied. Looking over to the competition, a girl with a name-tag reading “Lee”, Kel guessed that, size-wise at least, the two team captains were about evenly matched. The other team, too, had put their heads together and were talking quietly – no doubt about how Midori had effectively evened up the score, though Hae could not afford to lose. If their captain won or even tied, the other team would win with two wins over one – but if Hae pulled out with a win, they would tie on wins and it would fall to individual points scored, putting Crown in the lead.

 

The second the flags dropped, both captains charged. The other girl was fast, faster than Hae, going for the traditional head strike; but Hae twisted and turned at the last second, reversing the direction of her blade and swiping savagely at the other girl’s torso. The snap was solid, echoing underneath her _kiai_ , and Kel could tell from the sharp intake of breath around her, not least the red flags flying upwards, that the point was a good one.

 

“Great timing,” Midori whispered down to them. “And notice how she stepped out enough to make contact at the right distance – this technique is difficult because you get so close that the distancing is hard to do right.”

 

The other captain was shifting uncomfortably into position, looking distinctly disgruntled. The challenge was, of course, that since Hae had scored so early, there was almost three minutes for the other girl to even the score. While Kel would have been inclined to come out of the gate the moment the match started, and make the most out of the next three minutes, the other captain simply… waited.

 

“Don’t go for it, don’t go for it, don’t go for it,” Midori was chanting under her breath, staring at Hae as if she could transmit the message with the power of her glare alone. “Don’t you _dare_ go for it… wait her out, if you’re patient for just once in your entire life let it be now…”

 

She sucked in her breath, as Hae slid in threateningly, sliding her shinai in for a wrist strike, but let it out again when the other captain smacked the strike away and Hae backed off. The next minute was slow – Kel realized perhaps half a minute in that Hae had no intention of truly going for any strikes, and that her priority was defense. The other team’s captain realized it soon after, becoming more aggressive, and by the time the second minute had slipped away, Hae was entirely on the defensive, letting the other girl take the centre. But by this time, Lee was getting desperate, and with desperation came sloppiness, and Kel could tell the moment that Hae found a second opening.

 

It wasn’t a big move, a showy move, or even a difficult move that Hae used to get her second point. It was the basic strike, a simple head-strike, the one that most kendoka opened with. The Port Caynn captain had dropped her guard, just a split second, but that was all Hae needed to pull out the oldest and most basic trick in the book, land a head-strike on her, and finish with a smooth _zanshin_ back into guard. It was a solid strike, and the judges duly awarded it to her while Hae, quite obviously, held her breath to keep from bursting into cheers right away. Kel, Alice, Evelyn and Midori exchanged a series of excited, bemused, curious and excited looks, and stood to join her in the ring for the traditional salute.

 

Just like that, they were in the final.

 

XXX

 

The tournament organizers had, rather oddly, chosen to leave off the final match of the women’s team competition until after most of the men’s team matches. The men would play through their ladders to the final match, which would then be left off for the women’s team final, followed by the men’s team final. There was no surprise on either Hae or Midori’s faces when they went to view who had won the other side of the women’s ladder and saw that the Lower City had taken the competition with a four out of five match win against the Port Legann team, which had previously eliminated the Mt. Sarryn University team. Midori shrugged and seemed to think nothing more of it; Hae glared at the dark red marker linking the code “LCG” to the final match against “CAG” as if it had personally offended her.

 

Perhaps it was nerves, perhaps it was that she wasn’t personally invested, or perhaps it was just that it actually wasn’t as interesting, but somehow Kel couldn’t bring herself to pay very much attention to the men’s matches. Of the two teams, Crown A did better and made it to the semi-final, where they were promptly eliminated by Royal University A, a team including several Crown alumni; Crown B had a good first round, but were eliminated in quarter-finals by Port Caynn B.

 

By the time Hae called all the girls together for warm-up, Kel was beginning to feel the stiffness from a long day on her feet and was wishing they had just gotten the final match over with when the rest of the matches happened. She hadn’t bothered pulling off most of her armour, and even though the tournament officials had thrown open all of the doors to the competition hall, it was sweltering. She shifted, hating the feeling of the heavy, sweaty gi on her back.

 

“All right, girls,” Hae said, panting slightly after the short, but intense round of _hayasuburi_. “Last match. Make it count!”

 

Kel shook her head as she pulled on her helmet for the last time. She had exchanged her sweaty _tenugui_ , head towel, with a fresh one, but she couldn’t say she enjoyed the feeling of dampness on her chin and cheeks either. The rest of the Crown Academy team was assembling behind her – since it was the final match, both delegations would be sitting behind the lines on their respective sides to cheer on their competitor. She tugged the _himo_ , strings, of her helmet tight, letting them fall neatly down her back as she had done so often in Japan.

 

She had been so focused on getting her helmet on, tight, that she hadn’t been paying attention to the Lower City side. When she finally focused and looked over, she flinched – they were a big team. Most of the other teams had sent one to two teams, sometimes a third girls’ team, a few individuals and a few beginners, but the Lower City had sent over thirty kendoka, most of them imposing and more than one on Team Tortall, to the JTCC Taikai. The mass on the other side was… intimidating, to say the least.

 

Kel took a deep breath. I am a lake, she told herself, focusing on the judges entering the shiai-jo. They bowed, first to _shomen_ , the front of the room where the chief referee sat, then to each other, and unfurled the flags. A lake, she thought, cool and placid and calm. Intimidation is the first step to loss, and as terrifying as the Lower City was, she could not afford fear. She took another breath, held it for two counts, and let it out again, rising to her feet to stand with the rest of her team at the edge of the shiai-jo.

 

“This is the final match of the women’s team competition,” the announcer, a petite brunette beginner from Royal University, said. “In red, Crown Academy Girls’ Team. In white, the Lower City Girls’ Team.”

 

When their team was called, they stepped into the shiai-jo as one, walking to the centre. The Lower City followed a breath after, and together both teams bowed once to the chief referee and once to each other, before the latter four turned and walked out. Kel felt a couple pats on her shoulder, one from Alice and the other from Midori, she thought, before she slipped into guard.

 

The flags dropped, and the other girl, with the name-tag _Lin_ , was on her. Kel pushed in, making the first blow too short to count, turning around to face Lin again. There wasn’t time for Kel to launch her own attack, because the girl was on her again, aiming for a wrist strike. Kel blocked, stumbled backwards – giving just the right distance for Lin to land the hit aimed at her head.

 

“ _Men-ari!_ ”

 

The point called, Kel shook her head slightly – the blow had been solid, and within the first fifteen, twenty seconds of play? And the way Lin moved, Kel could tell that she was skilled, far more skilled that Kel herself. All she could do was put up the best fight she could.

 

Kel took initiative when the flags dropped a second time, but without any luck – the hit collided, but was off-side, and the only good result out of it was that Lin’s hit was too close to count as a point. Kel whirled, inadvertently blocking a second strike, feeling herself inexorably being pushed back. There was something beautiful about being overwhelmed and overmatched – it made her want to work harder, do better, do _something._ She yelled out, something meaningless, back to her and shoved back, just in time; she was nearing the boundaries of the ring. Lin stumbled back, and Kel took the opportunity to go for her wrist. She missed, but expected to – she followed it up immediately with a head strike.

 

She half-expected it to be called – she saw a flag go up in the corner of her eye – but no point. A disappointment, but that was the nature of budo.  But at least she had taken back the centre, shifting onto offense instead of simply defending. She launched another attack, not really intended to win a point through a strike, but hoping maybe to push her out of the ring. The other girl blocked, tried for a torso strike, but she was too close to connect properly. They both backed off, breathing heavily.

 

Kel circled the other girl, Lin, whose intense brown eyes she could make out through the bars of the helmet. She feinted once, twice – and, then, crucially, hesitated just one second too long before going in for her strike. It was all the other girl needed, and Kel fell the dull thud on her wrist and heard the call before she landed her own.

 

“ _Kote-ari!_ ” It wasn’t a bad fight, overall, though it was a two-point loss. Kel sighed internally as she bowed out of the shiai-jo, clapping Alice on the shoulder as she went.

 

“Not bad, really,” Evelyn leaned over to whisper, picking up her own helmet. “You’re doing really well for someone new to kendo. Good work.”

 

Kel nodded awkwardly while working off her helmet and shot Evelyn a quick smile of thanks. Pulling the cumbersome thing off, she finally registered the chatter and cheers around her. A quick glance behind her revealed that both Raoul and Vanget were actively coaching from the sidelines, even if Kel hadn’t been paying attention enough to notice. She would have to keep that in mind in the future, she thought regrettably – it would have been good to know some of the strategies they were shouting, even if most of it was simply orders to be patient and wait for the openings.

 

Alice was… different, in this match, or so Kel thought, from her previous matches. Normally, Alice was a nervous fighter – she was a little unpredictable, which meant that it was often hard for people to successfully score hits against her, and she had good instincts, but something about the very way she moved leaked timidity. It wasn’t that the way she moved changed, exactly – she had never been particularly aggressive, especially compared to Evelyn and Hae, but somehow, this time, she exuded calm. Control.

 

When the match started, Alice hadn’t moved. She stood her ground, waiting. Her opponent yelled something at her, but she didn’t react, didn’t respond at all. Her opponent poked at her, feinted, but Alice stayed still, reacting only to flick the other girl’s blade away and otherwise holding her defensive position. A minute ticked away, Kel thought, with very little action – then the other girl struck. Somehow, Alice was able to distinguish the true attack, because her shinai slipped forward, a slight movement soundly tapping the other girl’s wrist a split second before the other girl’s strike hit true. One flag went up, white – but the other two were red.

 

“ _Kote-ari!_ ”

 

The second half of the match was far faster paced than the first – the other girl knew that time was draining away, and she was intent on catching up and claiming the victory for herself. The yelling from the sidelines, if anything, intensified; the Lower City was shouting for their _jiho_ , a girl with the name-tag “Presser” to push forward, attack, take the offensive, while Raoul and Vanget were shouting at Alice to stay calm, stay in control, push back. Alice pushed forward into every one of Presser’s attacks, fortunately making any hits scored on her too close to count, but unfortunately putting herself in a position where none of her points would count either. Time ticked down, and Kel could feel the palpable relief streaming off her teammates when time was called and Alice took the match.

 

They didn’t celebrate, though Kel saw Seiji and Raoul give Alice resounding pats on the back when she walked out, looking exhausted but thrilled. “My first win,” she whispered into Kel’s ear. Kel shot her a congratulatory smile as Evelyn bowed into the shiai-jo.

 

Evelyn didn’t have the luck that Alice did, though she, too, played far better than she had in previous matches. Naturally, Evelyn’s style being quite different, she attacked right away, pushing her opponent back towards the edges of the shiai-jo. Despite furious attacks by both girls, and one time where Evelyn managed to push the other girl out of the ring for a penalty, the match finished _ikkiwake_ , tied, leaving both Crown and Lower City tied. Evelyn merely shook her head, coming out of the ring – evidently a tough match, she was breathing heavily, and when Vanget asked her something, she merely shook her head.

 

Midori’s match, on the other hand, was short. Kel had come to realize that, mild-mannered or not, Midori was singularly focused when it came to kendo. She had been nominated as a prospect for Team Tortall during the last Worlds in 2015, even though she was too young to actually play; instead, she had been permitted to attend national team practices. Midori played much like Alice did, holding back early on – but her opponent was strong, but aggressive, and not careful enough. Like Alice, Midori’s first point was a wrist strike, and her second, which followed mere seconds later, was _hiki-men_.

 

By the time Midori walked out, looking pleasantly satisfied, Alice was gripping Kel and Evelyn’s hands, practically ready to squeal in excitement. With Midori’s win, they had pulled into the lead, two wins to one – and with only one match remaining, so long as Hae tied or better, they would take the title. Hae, too, was looking confident walking into the ring.

 

There was no surprise when Corinne Kim walked in as _taisho_ for the Lower City. Despite her two point loss to Kim in individuals, Hae’s guard was still and stable, and the second the flags dropped, Kel could tell that Hae, again, planned on playing it defensively this round. They were ahead – there was no reason for Hae to risk losing their lead with risky actions. Kim, on the other hand, clearly knew full well that her team was behind, and opened aggressively with a hit aimed at Hae’s head.

 

Hae deflected the strike to one side savagely, taking the opportunity to go for Kim’s torso, but no luck – she was too close for a good strike, and she backed off in guard again to wait for the next attack. Kim followed up on her attack with another one, right after – this time, Hae surged forward to meet her, body to body.

 

“Always a good time-waster,” Alice muttered softly in her ear. “She just needs to wait it out, wait it out…”

 

True to her word, Hae didn’t make an effort to disengage, instead staying body-to-body as long as possible and keeping the other girl close. Kel held her breath – there was always a risk with this strategy, being that kendo was about attacking, about having the intent to attack. Hae would have to look, to the judges, like she was intending on attacking, or they would order them apart and restart. The only advantage of _that_ was that time wouldn’t stop running if they were ordered apart.

 

Unlike with the other matches, both teams were silent. Kel glanced over at the Lower City team – they were all in _seiza_ as a sign of respect for their _taisho_ , staring intently. Two of the girls on their team were biting their lips, and Kel spotted a third gripping her hands in her lap. She peeked over at her teammates – of the three sitting beside her, Alice and Evelyn had gripped hands, and only Midori looked truly calm. Then again, as Kel noted, there was very little that fazed her.

 

“ _Wakare!_ ” The head judge finally stepped in, drawing his flags to chest level and waved them apart, once, sharply. Hae was a little slow to obey the order, grappling another second before she let up, moving a little slower than she would normally to return to her start position. Overall, Kel guessed that Hae had wasted two minutes out of three so far, and she couldn’t help but catch her breath.

 

“ _Hajime!_ ”

 

Again, Kim came barrelling out, aiming for a wrist strike followed by a head strike, but Hae deflected the first attack and spun her head, turning the head strike off-side. Kel winced – it must have hurt, but Hae showed no sign of it. Hae pushed back, trying to get body-to-body again, but without success – Kim backed off, staying within the ring. There was a breath, two, in which Kel could hear panting from both players, then Kim screamed and went in for another strike.

 

Hae leapt back from the strike, a big step – Kel sucked in her breath, because one normally stepped _into_ the strike to make it too close to count, but in this case it was a good call. Either Kim was tired, or she had calculated on Hae stepping into the strike, because it fell short. She followed it up, though, with another strike, which again missed as Hae stepped back again, turning. Time was counting down, and Kim knew it – she was desperate, continuing to push forward, but the clock was counting down, and the room was utterly silent as most of the two teams held their collective breaths until….

 

“ _JIKAN-DESU!”_ the time-keeper screamed out, raising the yellow triangle – and nothing could stop the wide, excited smiles that burst onto Alice’s and Evelyn’s faces, nor the small grin on Midori’s. She couldn’t turn around to look at the rest of the team, but she heard the rustle of movement and could tell they were equally excited.

 

She didn’t remember, later, getting to her feet with the rest of the team and bowing out, nor the men’s finals, nor the closing ceremonies, nor even the celebration party Dom threw at the house. But she remembered that moment, that moment when they all, collectively, realized that Crown had taken the gold in women’s team, and she remembered the feeling of her first gold medal in kendo dropping on her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a brief glossary of kendo terms – I’ve exchanged with the English equivalents for the most part, but here is a quick reference in case:
> 
> Shiai-jo: the combat arena. In kendo, this is 9m x 9m; in naginata, 12m x 12m.  
> Bogu: kendo or naginata armour. Examples can be seen by searching google for images of bogu.  
> Men, Kote, Do, Sune: Head, wrist, torso and shins. Sune strikes are permitted in naginata but not in kendo. When –ari is attached, it signifies the point scored.  
> Sempo, jiho, chuken, fukusho, taisho: positions on a kendo team, first through captain. Traditionally set up as weakest to strongest, though some teams do vary somewhat. In a naginata team, there are only 3 positions, being sempo, chuken, and taisho.  
> Hajime: Start  
> Nihon-me: Start after one point has been scored.  
> Shobu: Start if the scores are tied 1-1  
> Shobu-ari: Win.  
> Ippongachi: One-point win (i.e. score is 1-0 at the end of the match)  
> Ikkiwake: Tie  
> Wakare: An order for the contestants to split apart and return to the start position. Unlike a scored point, wakare doesn’t stop the time, hence Hae uses it to delay.
> 
> I hope this is still interesting for the lot of you, and next time I’m bringing everyone back to Crown for more drama, midterm exams, preparations for the Midwinter Ball, etc… And there will be more Aly. And after that will be Side Story 2, with Daran!


	11. Holiday Fuss, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the holidays roll near, our heroines (and heros!) have several preoccupations: Business. Midterms. And the Midwinter Ball.

 

Business was good, Aly reflected, doing her books for the first time. With Alanna’s use of her services, and thereby her tacit approval, her social dynamics consultancy had really taken off after the Halloween Hop. Most of what she did was rather mundane and dull, it was true – but she had turned a tidy profit, even after subtracting the marketing costs, such as they were. In fact, if her numbers were right – and she was confident they were – she had earned exactly 157 euros in the past month, and it looked as though business would improve, given that her expenses were projected to drop.

 

About half of her business was simple requests for information, which she generally charged a flat rate of 5 euros, unless they had really annoyed her. For example, there was that time she charged Maeve Lightfoot 15 euros because she had shown up and asked whether Kieran haMinch was seeing anyone, _honestly_ , after the show he and Uline Hannalof put on at Halloween Hop on the dance floor. Then there were the interesting cases.

 

She had gotten 75 euros from Clarence Swanson for getting his violin back. It was ridiculously easy to figure out who had taken it, because Clarence was in dead heat with Valerie Dineen for concertmaster in the orchestra. There was no doubt that Valerie had taken it, the only question was – how? She certainly hadn’t done it herself, or on her own, and there were witnesses to prove it. And after figuring out _how_ , there was the question of _where_ the violin had been stashed, and the whole problem of _getting it back_. How? Valerie had a cousin, Charlotte McEvoy – the families weren’t _closely_ related, and politically speaking the Dineens and McEvoys didn’t do business together or anything, but they had apparently had a few playdates as children and it was enough. Charlotte, a first-year, swiped the violin, and hid it, surprisingly, _not_ in her room (and Aly had searched), but in her friend Beatrice Amary’s artroom locker. Once Aly figured it out, breaking into the locker was even easier than breaking into Charlotte’s room, and Clarence had been extremely grateful.

 

The last 50 euros had come from Ainsley Dittmer, and it came with a heavy discount simply because Aly had found the circumstances compelling. Ainsley didn’t come from a family as wealthy as most of the others; she didn’t have big business family, she wasn’t ancient nobility, and to be frank Ainsley was in a tough situation. She had, perhaps unwisely, gone on several dates with Joren Montague, who was an ass if Aly had ever met one (though, she admitted, a very pretty one). However, when Ainsley tried to break it off, things got … complicated. He hadn’t taken her “Look… I don’t think this is going to work out” speech very well, and he camped outside her door, arms crossed, for hours at a time. The first time she ran into him there, he had given her a loud, condescending, extremely embarrassing speech about how fortunate she should consider herself that he was even going out with her in front of her hall-mates. Then, when she began actively avoiding him, he revealed that he had some very compromising photos of her, and gave her an ultimatum: continue dating him, or they would be papered over the school by the end of the week.

 

In an act of bravery Aly hadn’t thought her capable of, Ainsley broke into his rooms to try to get them back when he was at fencing practice. Unfortunately for her, she had no luck there - wherever he kept them, it wasn’t in his dorm room, and though his computer was in his room, it was password protected. That was the point where she had come to Aly.

 

It was an interesting problem. Ainsley counted on there being a digital form of the photos; there was no way that someone like Joren would use a camera that was anything other than the newest model. On top of that, she knew that Joren had at least one physical set of the photos because he had flashed them at her when making his ultimatum. Aly would have bet, too, that he had other copies somewhere, and to neutralize the threat, she had had to track down and get all of them.

 

Scratch that. The advantage of working for Ainsley was that she didn’t get need to _get_ the photos. She just needed to _destroy_ them. Preferably, she needed to destroy them all in extremely short order, because otherwise Joren would, so to speak, _get the picture_ , and then the pictures would pop up again, like estranged family members after a lottery win.

 

So, a night of hacking, followed by three break-ins (once for his bedroom with Ainsley in tow, once to his school locker, and once for the fencing locker room), and a carefully staged laboratory accident later, Aly managed to track down and burn every extant set of the photographs in question. It was a good week’s work, and the most work she had done for any of her clients.

 

Even after her expenses, namely printing a thousand business cards, printing several discreet posters, her new chairs for her clients and a few additional technological gadgets, it had been a good month, and it was only going to get better from here.

 

She heard footsteps in the corridor – even footsteps, confident footsteps, not heavy but not exactly delicate, either. Male, she thought, looking up from her computer screen to her open doorway. Average height or taller, based on the length of the strides – average weight, or just under, based on the sound. She leaned back in her chair, waited. This would be good.

 

When she saw him, she let her lips curve into a small smile. He was tall, but not as tall as, say, the kendo captain, nor as broad. She would pin him at about 180cm, possibly 75kg. His blue-black hair was artfully mussed, cropping his ears messily, and his sapphire-blue eyes were, today, crinkled in slight embarrassment. His nose was narrow, his jaw round – overall, he was not the imposing figure that legend made him out to be.

 

“Jon De Conte, unless I miss my guess,” she said, when he paused at her door. “Which I haven’t, so – have a seat.”

 

He wouldn’t be here unless he was looking for her, after all – she was in a rather out-of-the-way room. She saw him hesitate, a moment, before he strode into her small room and sat down in one of her chairs. He looked around, surprised, it seemed, at the amount of space that Aly had managed to get by rearranging her room – her bed was off to one side, which admittedly blocked her closet so she had to clamber over it to get to her clothes each morning, but she had turned her desk and desk chair around to face her doorway. She had even squeezed two neat chairs, simple in design and carefully selected to match her school desk, into her room. It made for an odd living arrangement, but it would do.

 

“What can I do for you?” she prompted, when he didn’t stop gaping at her arrangements.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he replied, turning his attention back on her. “You said you offer professional problem-solving, right?”

 

“Yes,” Aly replied, inwardly rolling her eyes. It wasn’t like she wasn’t famous for this, at this point. She bit her tongue to stop herself from sounding insulting – that wouldn’t bode well for business, and depending on Mr. De Conte’s problem, she could be taking on an assignment worth her entire last month’s profits. “What can I help you with?”

 

“Hmm,” he said, looking away from her to the left. Truth, or at least, more likely to be truth than fiction. “I’m not sure where to start.”

 

Aly held back a groan. Was he really this dense? “Is it about fencing, or is it about Josiane Rittevon?” she prompted.

 

“Well, both, really,” he admitted, raising his eyes to look directly into hers. They were a very nice blue, Aly noted. Still didn’t make him quite worth all the attention, but it was something. “Fencing is a mess. It was a mess in September, and I thought things couldn’t get any worse, but then they did, because my girlfriend went and insulted one of the Smythessons. They’re like a pack, you know, the Smythessons. Where they go, half the club follows.”

 

Aly shrugged. “So? You’re just the captain for the foilists, and from all accounts they’re still listening to you in practice. It’s Alanna’s job to worry about fencing.”

 

“But, it’s not,” Jon interjected abruptly. He took a breath. “But it’s not – fencing is my responsibility too. We work as a team, Alanna and I, or at least, we did…”

 

Aly debated with herself about whether or not to point out that he hadn’t mentioned Gary and Wyldon, equally captains of their own groups, in that sentence, but ultimately decided against it. “Go on.”

 

“And I can’t blame Josie about all of it, because it was already a mess when before the Hop, but I really want fencing to go back to the way it was last year.” Aly nodded encouragingly, though privately she thought that ship had sailed long ago. “I’ve already talked to Alanna, and it’s just getting worse. I don’t know what to do about it anymore. And Josie – I can’t say I don’t like her, but she says a lot of really offensive things to the people I care about, and I can’t say I like her anymore either. But she’s a Rittevon, and I have the balance my life with the fencing club, with the future of the Conte Group too. And Rittevon Industries is not really a group the Conte Group can really piss off.”

 

And Josiane Rittevon, it was known, was the cherished youngest daughter of Oron Rittevon, the slightly mad (on his good days) primary shareholder of Rittevon Industries, known primarily for weapons development and its military contracts. Perhaps “primary shareholder” was stretching it a little – Rittevon Industries was an old company, and in truth Oron only owned about ten percent of the shares, though he controlled another ten through his children. The company had gone public a half-century ago, and the saner public fortunately controlled about sixty percent. The remainder was held by other, far-flung members of the Rittevon family, including the Balitang clan, the oldest son of which, Mequen, held about five percent.

 

“So, what are you looking for help with?” Aly asked eventually, since he wasn’t continuing. “Do you want to get back together with Alanna? Quite honestly, I don’t think that’s going to happen.” Since the Hop, Alanna was usually seen in the company of one George Cooper, though Aly didn’t think there was anything going on between them.

 

“No, no,” Jonathan sighed, putting his head in his hands. “I suppose not. I’d just like fencing to _talk_ , again, instead of half the team ignoring the other half. And with Josie… I’d like to find a way out of it. It was a bad idea from the start. I liked her, or at least I thought I did, but… I can’t just end it without thinking of the ramifications for the Conte Group. Some of our businesses have supply contracts with Rittevon Industries, and I wouldn’t put it above Rittevon to break them. We could sue, but that would cost a ton and take years to resolve, and we’d be at a loss the entire time. So I have to find a way to break it off without it affecting Conte Group.”

 

Aly smiled, not a genuine smile but a businesswoman’s smile. “The latter should resolve the former, and _that_ , I can help you with. But it’s going to cost you.”

 

XXX

 

It was the end of November, and Alanna leaned back in her chair, stretching contentedly. She was updating the team rosters, that behemoth of a binder in which each team member was diligently recorded, with their strengths, weaknesses, and tournament scores. She had always wondered how the fencing team could have entered the digital era without digitizing these records – it really would be so much easier to update each team member’s tournament record on computer – but apparently there had been so many difficulties passing electronic files along and problems with things being deleted that somehow, the fencing team roster stayed in its paper form. So, here she was, sitting at a round table in the Cloisters’ reading room with papers spread all around her, updating the records with a pen.

 

Her fencers had done well this year. They had done three tournaments already in the past eight weeks, two of which were TFA events. The Olau Open Invitational had been a good start, with most of her team members making top sixteen and a clean sweep for first place; in terms of sabreurs, she had been particularly impressed by Alinna Smythesson and that second-year Neal Quinn-Cohen, both of whom had taken home second. She noted with pleasure that all of the Smythessons, at that tournament, had medalled.

 

The Crown Academy Interhigh tournament, too, had been a clean sweep for both teams and individuals. That was a home tournament, the only such tournament simply because there were very few other high schools able to field a fencing team. It wasn’t a TFA event, unfortunately for those who placed so highly, but it was good practice anyway, even if it was effectively an internal competition.

 

The Port Caynn Invitational Tournament, just a week ago, was also a great showing. It was the first truly _large_ tournament on their tournament circuit, with more than two hundred fencers from across the Capital region. In the teams, Crown had done fine – third place men’s foil, second place women’s foil, third place in men’s epee, fifth in men’s sabre, third in women’s sabre. Alanna had won all but one of her matches, losing in the final against the current Senior Division champion. Daran Smythesson, too, was on a streak – he made it to the semi-final round, and both Imrah Legann and Douglass Veldine placed in the top ten for men’s foil. In women’s foil, only Mackenzie Seabeth and Rose Smythesson made the top ten. For men’s epee, Gary made it to quarterfinals, but women’s epee was a bit more fortunate, with Elenna Smythesson placing third. Alanna, though, was particularly impressed with the men’s sabre this year; fully four of her six sabreurs had made the top ten, with Wyldon placing third and that hotshot second-year, Neal, finishing an astonishing eighth.

 

All in all, life was good. The stares, so common in August and September, had dropped, and though she could never say she had been totally _friendless_ , it was like the ice had broken. People were talking to her again, normally, and it was good.

 

“Finishing up?” George said, breaking into her reverie. He was lounging in his chair across from her, a laptop in front of him. His hazel eyes sparked with good humour. She was glad they’d become closer, these past few weeks; they had always been friends, in the sense that they got along and occasionally sat together with mutual friends, but they hadn’t been the sort to spend time together alone doing things as mundane as homework. Even as bitter as he could be sometimes about issues of socioeconomic class, he had a wicked sense of humour and a pragmatic way of seeing the world that she enjoyed. She liked it.

 

“Yup,” she grinned. “Finally. What are you working on?”

 

“Essay for English,” he replied, leaning back. “But what I’ve got is good enough. I’ve still got to finish up my Chinese and Arabic assignments, and those take a long time.”

 

“You could have chosen an easier language.” Alanna rolled her eyes. Arabic was a popular elective among the Bazhir minority, and Chinese preferred by the Asian immigrant minority, but George was the only one that she knew who, first, took more than the required language courses, and second, chose Arabic _and_ Chinese. “Why Arabic and Chinese, anyway?”

 

“Arabic and Chinese have got the largest numbers of speakers internationally,” George replied, shutting his laptop with a click. “With increasing globalization, it’s just a matter of time before we’ll begin working closer with the Arabic-speaking countries and with China. I like to be ahead of the curve.”

 

“But they’re probably the least useful right now,” Alanna pointed out. “Our closest trade partners are the French and Germans, and in the foreseeable future, when you’re breaking into the job market, it’s doubtful that Tortallan trade will have expanded far beyond the EU and North America. It won’t be that useful, for you, at least. Maybe in twenty years.”

 

“Well,” George said, a slow grin crossing his face. “I also just like a challenge. And who says I won’t be the one leading Tortallan trade to China and the Arabic-speaking countries? Oh, speaking of leading the charge, I had an … interesting conversation with your brother the other day.”

 

Alanna snorted. “I can’t see you in business – at least, not yet. And what conversation did you have with Thom? Was it about how one day he’ll give you seed money, with conditions?”

 

George shook his head. “Yeah, he opened with that, but then he weirdly segued into suggesting that I should ask you to the Midwinter Ball this year – assuming I go, when I’ve skipped the last four.”

 

Alanna laughed out loud. “Do you even own a suit?”

 

“No, but I’m sure I could borrow one.” He had a spark in his eyes, one that Alanna couldn’t quite read. Was he teasing her? Was he serious? If he was serious, surely he meant going as friends – but more likely, this was just an interesting topic to poke her about.

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Alanna demurred, letting her voice dip into a mocking, uncertain melody and pursing her lips. She sighed dramatically. “How _ever_ would it look to everyone?”

 

“Darlin’, why let the world measure our love?” he drawled in response, resting a hand loosely over his heart. “So much is lost in allowing others to decide our hearts, such that our hearts lie broken, dead, in the shards of societal expectations.”

 

They looked at each other for a moment, before Alanna felt her expression crumble and she burst out laughing, again. “Good God, that’s awful. But if you borrow that suit, _maybe_ I’ll think about it.”

 

XXX

 

Daine stared at her desk, a frown creasing her face, staring at the stacked pile of books on her desk. Her desk, usually covered in scrap paper, old homework assignments and paper plates, was, for once, neat. Numair said that having a neat desk would help her study (though she had no idea why that was supposed to be the case, judging from the state of _his_ desk), but so far, she didn’t see the difference. It was a week before midterms, and of her eight classes, she could be confident that she was passing… three? Phys Ed for sure; she was athletic enough. She was _probably_ passing English and Tortallan, simply because the English curriculum in the public school system was, as an exception to the rule, _better_ than the private school one, and because in Tortallan she just had to read the books and write something about them, which was easy enough given that she spoke Tortallan _almost_ natively.

 

She was probably hovering around the pass mark for her maths and sciences classes. She sighed, then dropped her head against her desk. Curse Numair, she thought sullenly. He had told her to follow her dreams, and that’s where this led her. So she wanted to be a vet, and to get into vet school she needed to take heavy maths and sciences. The pro? She could take them in English, and doing it in English was easier than in Tortallan. The con? She was more awful at these than she was at most of the language classes. Maybe she should have taken a page out of some of the other scholarship students’ books, and focused on the arts and humanities. And English.

 

She moved on to the class she was _definitely_ failing: art history. It was a stupid course, and she should have chosen something less ridiculous. That was her fault for choosing her final elective based on, of all things, _weird things you can’t take in public school_ instead of _easy courses to raise your average_. She could have been taken German – German was related to Icelandic, right? Or, she didn’t know, Media Studies. She could be watching television and writing essays about the themes in movies or something. Or Art. She couldn’t draw that well, but surely Art was more of an effort thing? She was good at effort. Numair always said that she would always get an A for effort (or was it an E for effort?). But no, she had to choose _Art History_ because it was _ridiculous_ and now she had to memorize completely useless information about Botticelli and the Italian Renaissance and she didn’t even know what else. _Damn_.

 

But with one week left before midterms, there was no way she could prep for her maths and sciences exams, revise her English, Tortallan and the limited written phys ed exam, _and_ learn enough of Art History to pass. She had so much work to do, still, and she had a text left to read for Tortallan and she actually, really, _needed_ to drill problem sets for her science classes.

 

So. She glared at the pile of books, and pulled out the large, disagreeable Art History text, and promptly dropped it on the floor, following it with the English, Tortallan and phys ed texts. Time for Plan B.

 

She could make up on a failed Art History exam with a good, involved essay over the winter break. Same for English and Tortallan, though she thought she probably had kept up well enough in those classes to pull a pass anyway, and she could make it up with an essay if she had to over the break. She was athletic enough that even if she failed the written part, she’d pull a pass in the class, and hopefully there would be some overlap between the health part of the course and biology. If not, she’d beg an extra credit assignment. No, the only important ones were the maths and sciences. She could prep for those in a week, and since Numair was a science teacher, so he could help her more with these than with the others.

 

She grabbed her maths text and got to work.

 

XXX

 

Since the kendo tournament, Kel had been busy. Doing what, she wasn’t entirely sure – there was the usual dash from naginata practice to kendo practice, the usual homework, the usual meal-time socialization with Neal, the naginata team, and, increasingly, others.

 

She had met an excitable, boisterous first-year through the kendo team, Owen Jesslaw, who was shaping up to be one of the most likely survivors of the yearly kendo bloodbath. It wasn’t that he was particularly good at kendo – far from it, really – but his good humour kept him coming to regular practices and she had never heard him describe practice as anything other than “jolly”. One of the other key contenders from kendo, Hailey Chu, often also came for breakfast, side by side with Margarry Cavall, both of whom Kel also shared her morning Tortallan class.

 

Through Prosper, one of her naginata first-years, she had met both Merric Hollyrose and Faleron Mainderoi, from the other named partners in the famed Corus litigation firm, Tameran Hollyrose Mainderoi. Faleron, only a second year, was already aiming to join his family in law; the other two were not so certain, Merric confiding dryly that he heard enough about the law at home that he saw no reason to actually study it and live it. Kel didn’t have any classes with Prosper, since she was in a mix of both English-language and Tortallan-language classes and he was in almost entirely Tortallan-language classes, but she did share Maths with Merric and with Seaver Tasride, who occasionally came to lunch with them.

 

Rounding out their group was Alinna Smythesson, a sabreur Neal’s level (“at least,” she had scoffed, her eyes sparkling, “and call me Linn.”) and one of Margarry’s friends, with whom Kel shared her English class.

 

“Study groups,” Neal announced over breakfast at the last Monday of term. He had brought Cleon Kennan, whose grey eyes were looking rather bleary at seven-thirty in the morning, and a brunette Kel didn’t recognize with him. “We should organize one.”

 

Kel was already seated with their other friends who lived in the same dorm, blinked in surprise. Neal was rarely so coherent in the mornings, and if she looked carefully, she still saw shadows under his eyes and his hair was more mussed than usual. “Study groups?”

 

“Yes, Kel, those things where you get together with your friends and help each other with their weak areas and help them in turn,” he replied impatiently, pulling out a chair. “Oh, and this is Maura Dunlath. She’s a second year, and a fencer.”

 

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” the new girl said politely, offering her right hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

 

“The pleasure is, ah, all mine,” Kel stuttered, shaking the new girl’s hand. It wasn’t quite her, but there really was no replacement for Japanese for everyday formalities. Was there even a Tortallan translation for _yoroshiku onegaishimasu?_ In English she had heard it said as “please take care of me”, but that didn’t really have the same meaning… she would need to find some adequate translations for herself.

 

“So – study groups,” Neal interrupted, reaching across Kel’s plate for the round pot of butter. “I’m good at French, history, and biology – I’m terrible at maths. You’re a maths genius – I heard Master Albright say he was accelerating you into a higher level class, so next year you’ll head right into the third-year class instead of the second. Maura’s good at civics, history, political sciences. And Cleon…”

 

Cleon took her hand, left loose after she had greeted Maura. “Kel, pearl of my morning, I’m afraid I need help with most of my subjects.” Catching the look on her face, he dropped her hand and grinned. “But I can help you with Tortallan.”

 

Kel shook her head lightly at the upper-year’s silliness, smiling. “You didn’t need to work so hard to convince me, you know. I’m not opposed. And any rumours of my math skill are overblown – I just covered a lot of this year’s material already in Japan last year.”

 

“Great,” Neal replied, turning to his breakfast, simple bread and butter, today. “Meet at the Redpath common room at eight? The Cloisters is cozier, but their library is so much smaller and it’ll be too crowded for a big group. Let the others know.”

 

XXX

 

Numair’s apartment, tucked in a corner of Redpath Hall with both a separate entrance and a door opening into the dormitory, was considerably larger than the students’, and yet didn’t seem to be large enough to contain all of his books, tables, or experiments-in-progress. Daine often wondered how Numair came to be teaching at Crown Academy – he was young, for a teacher, only in his early twenties, and clearly a brilliant scientific researcher. But as a teacher, he was absent-minded and often let his classes be sidetracked into esoterica. He generally completed the yearly curriculum, if barely, and assigned quite perfunctory homework for most of his classes. He did not manage or supervise any of Crown’s numerous clubs or student organizations, preferring to spend time on his own projects. As a residence manager, Numair was charmingly ineffectual, leaving the students to sort out their own difficulties most of time – though she did recall one memorable occasion when he used a small explosion to send a group of fighting students to their rooms. He was clearly foreign – darker-skinned than most Tortallans, he had never mastered the Tortallan language and had long-since stopped trying, seeing as most Tortallans spoke English anyway.

 

Still, for all of his oddities, Daine was glad he was at Crown. He was someone who took an interest in her, who had always taken an interest in her from the first day she stepped on campus. It was at his suggestion and tutoring that Daine kept her scholarship after that disastrous first year, and regardless of his classroom teaching style, he was a good one-on-one tutor. Unlike other teachers, he never assumed that Daine simply wasn’t bright, or that she didn’t belong in such a high-class environment, or anything like that. He put things as they were – she _was_ different, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t intelligent. It was just that, sometimes, your personal circumstances didn’t let you maximize your potential earlier on. And when Daine hadn’t had anywhere to go in the summer, save a new foster home, Numair spoke to the administration and wrangled permission for her to stay at the school year-round.

 

So - whatever Numair was, wherever he had come from, as far as Daine was concerned he was perfect.

 

All of her science textbooks were strewn over one of the tables in Numair’s apartment, which he had cleared off for her. He had propped open the door to the residence, letting the crowded room feel airy and open rather than claustrophobic. When she had shown up today for her tutoring session, he had given her new problem sets for each of her subjects and was now stationed across from her, reading the latest _International Journal of Chemical Kinetics_.

 

“Having trouble?” he asked, looking up from his journal and catching her look. Daine shook her head hastily, embarrassed at having been caught staring.

 

“Um, no,” she stuttered, turning back to the problem set. As per usual, he had given her a number of example-type problems – the sort where the first problems were close enough to the examples given in her textbook that she could essentially substitute the numbers and the calculation would work, and then increasing in complexity until she understood the problem more naturally. She was well in the middle of it, which was normally where she started having problems, but thus far… it hadn’t been so bad.

 

“That’s good,” Numair replied, raising an eyebrow and glancing down at her blotted papers. She flushed, but Numair only smiled as he pulled the paper across the table and examined it critically. “You’re picking it up – you’ve got the principle of solving for x with one equation. But you need to actually work out the factoring part on paper – you can’t just try to memorize factoring sets. Move on to the next set – I think you’ve got this set, now.”

 

Daine nodded agreeably, changing over to another problem set and flipping through a few pages on her maths text to the next section.

 

“I hope you’re giving equal attention to your other subjects,” Numair said, leaning back in his chair. Daine looked over, seeing that his dark eyes, though stern, still held a laugh. He shouldn’t have such long eyelashes, she thought rebelliously. “I’d hate to think that you’re working hard on your sciences and maths and failing your other classes.”

 

“Of course,” Daine lied, feeling her ears heat as they did when she was under pressure. She was glad she’d left her hair down, today – he wouldn’t be able to tell, at least until it was too late. And it wasn’t really a lie. She wasn’t failing her other classes – she was _passing_ Tortallan, English and phys ed. She might not be passing them after the final exam, but she could make it up. Really, at the moment she was only failing Art History and who cared about that anyway?

 

“Hmm,” Numair replied, the tone telling Daine he didn’t really believe her but he would let it go for the moment. She knew he wouldn’t check in on her grades until the new year, so as long as she managed her extra credit assignments and brought her grades up before then it would be fine. Absolutely fine.

 

“Do you have plans for the holidays?” he prompted. “I would hate to think you’re spending your holiday doing extra credit assignments.”

 

Daine looked up, relaxing her facial expression into blankness and looking into his eyes directly. “Just the Midwinter ball, and after that I’ll relax for three weeks,” she replied, forcing her voice to a lackadaisical calm. “Watch whatever I want in the common room, read a book or two, sleep a lot.”

 

“All right, then,” he said, shooting her a look that said he didn’t believe her one whit, but turned his attention back to his journal. Inwardly, Daine breathed a sigh of relief – he wasn’t going to grill her too badly on this, today, anyway. “I was thinking, however, that perhaps since we will be the only ones here over the holidays and there won’t be a Midwinter dinner here, we could go into Blue Harbour for dinner on Midwinter’s Eve?”

 

Daine ducked her head down, looking at her homework, hoping he couldn’t see her blush. “Yes, I’d like that,” she replied lightly, trying to sound as breezy as possible.

 

“Let’s make plans closer to that date, then.”

 

XXX

 

The Redpath Hall common room was large, an open-concept space covering about half the main level with several different areas. There was the social area – a bunch of couches, a coffee table with magazines and the newspaper stacked on it, and a large screen television that was currently playing a BBC documentary of some sort. There were a number of smaller tables, in viewing distance of the television, with a wall lined with board games – it was also a popular spot for homework. There was an alcove with a pool table, often busy, and in a section off to one side was filled with books, large study tables, a roaring fireplace and several reading nooks. It was in this section that Kel and Owen staked out a large table and pulled out their books.

 

Kel fully expected to be asked for help with maths, though she had no intention of studying it this night; she had study notes to be written for Tortallan and one on the books they had read was in such outdated language she couldn’t be sure she even understood the saga. Neal had recommended had recommended she go over it with Faleron, who had the highest marks in Tortallan of them all. She pulled open her laptop and piled her textbooks to one side.

 

Neal blew in, Cleon and Maura behind him. Setting up, Neal’s books were for physics and maths – though Neal was good at both chemistry and biology, he needed the additional physics and maths classes to go to medical school, a problem he perpetually complained about. Cleon took a seat beside her, Maura across from her, and began pulling out their books.

 

“Are you going to the Midwinter Ball, Kel?” Cleon asked, keeping his voice low for the benefit of others. Owen was already deep in his books; despite his boisterous personality, he was surprisingly academically-minded.

 

“I assumed that we’d be going as a group,” Kel replied. “I do have to get something to wear though – it is formal, is it not? I don’t have appropriate clothing for a formal event.”

 

“That’s not a problem, though,” Linn interrupted, dropping her books on Kel’s other side. “We’ll swing into Blue Harbour on the weekend or after exams or something – there’s the weekend shuttle bus or I’ll make Daran drive us in. I need to pick your brain about maths. Oh, you were studying _Song of the Lioness_? I _love_ that poem!”

 

Kel shot a grin at the redhead, turning away from Cleon. “Then if you can help me understand it, I’ll help you with maths.”

 

She missed the amused grin Linn shot over her head at Cleon, and his rolled-eyes reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, everyone! This chapter feels like a lot of set-up, though I would warn you that every 5 chapters there's a short story completely unrelated to the main story line. Next chapter is Daran's short story instead :D which at least gives me some time to figure out what, exactly, Aly's going to do to Josiane.
> 
> As always, I appreciate everyone who continues to read this odd work, even though the boring bits that I insist on writing which are really only interesting to other martial artists and fencers.


	12. Side Story 2: The One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daran Smythesson had always been told that, when he met "the one", he would know. Too bad he hadn’t believed them earlier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the very long delay between posts! I've had this idea in mind since Daran and Alacia showed up in the last chapter, but real life caught up to me. Next time we're back to the main storyline, but I hope you enjoy this brief jump to the future!

Daran Smythesson had always been told that, when he met _the one_ , he would know. That was what Smythessons did, both the Smythesson blessing and the Smythesson curse. When a Smythesson fell in love, he fell hard, and he fell fast. It happened to his father before him, and to his grandfather before him, and to his great-grandfather before _him_. For his father’s case, Coram Smythesson had, almost twenty years before, taken one look at Rispah Cooper and fallen hard, fast, and forever – and he had four children to prove it.

 

Dad and his sisters (all three of them, and Alanna, who he still considered to be an honorary sister), had always said he would regret his romantic antics, but he hadn’t really believed them. He simply hadn’t really believed it would happen to him – it sounded too magical, too idealistic and ridiculous, that he would one day set eyes on a woman and just _know_.

 

And anyway, he thought he had covered his bases! Fencing had always come first, and he loved fencing. He always made that clear to the girls he was with, and he never did anything with anyone unless he was clear, absolutely certain, that she understood the situation and was still up for whatever it was. Yes means yes, and all that. That was how he ended up with his circle of girls – all of them friends, some of them occasionally up for something more, but none of them serious, none of them _relationships_.

 

So when he walked onto the Royal University campus, he hadn’t really expected that to change. Most of his girls from Crown had gone to other schools for college, but Alacia Sweetspring, probably his best friend (with benefits), had followed him to Royal. She was, at the moment, watching him with an incredibly amused expression.

 

“Smooth, Daran,” she said, coming up beside him and patting him on the back. “There, there.”

 

“You could help me, Lace,” Daran moaned, running a hand through his dark brown curls. “Go after her! Explain it! I’m not seeing anyone right now, I’m not, and you know the situation, I never made any promises to anyone!”

 

The girl shrugged. “I tried, already. You made your bed, you lie in it. You didn’t make any promises to me or to your other girls, and we know that – but, then, how can _she_ know that? And it didn’t help that her first impression of you was when she walked in on us snogging in my dorm room the first day. Come on. Let’s go get some lunch. I have a musical skills class in an hour, and then after that I have a dance practice, and I can’t do it on an empty stomach.”

 

Héloise Lin was her name. She was French. She was Alacia’s roommate, and she studied maths. And she was _the one_.

 

XXX

 

_A month or so previous…_

 

Daran leaned against the windowsill in Sydenham Hall, watching Alacia unpack her things. The dorms at Royal were overbooked this year, meaning that the single rooms were given out as a matter of luck, not of connections or money. After five years of having her own room at Crown, Alacia had a _roommate_.

 

“It’s too bad _we_ couldn’t be roommates,” he said, though the topic had been discussed at length over the summer. “We could have gotten a place off-campus, thrown parties…”

 

Alacia rolled her eyes. “Yeah, and my parents would have killed me, no matter who you are. I’ll get used to having a roommate, Daran. It’ll be fine. Maybe we’ll even be friends. And if it sucks too badly, I’ll just come crash in _your_ room for a bit. You’ve got your own room.”

 

“Luck, Lace.”

 

“More likely, star fencing skills,” she retorted, then grinned. “Come on, it’ll be fun! Having a roommate is like, your classic college experience. But if you’re looking to make me feel better …” Alacia reached towards him, slid one hand down his arm to his hand.

 

Daran returned the grin. He had always liked Alacia best of his girls – she was cool, and when he said that, he meant that she was _seriously cool_. Of all of his girls, she was the only one where he _knew_ she got it – where he _knew_ that she understood. And he knew that because Alacia had had other boyfriends, because she, of all of his girls, had outright told him that when she was seeing someone seriously, they would stop doing whatever it was that they were doing and just be friends, which they were anyway.

 

And it didn’t hurt that Alacia was very pretty – dark brown curls, hazel eyes, pale skin. They looked good together, a fact which had five years’ worth of Midwinter Ball and Midsummer Gala pictures to prove it.

 

But for the moment… he let Alacia pull him to her bed, enjoyed the sweet, familiar, feeling of her arms wrapping around his neck, of her lips locking against his.

 

“Oh!” There was a startled gasp from the doorway, followed by a thud. “Oh, je suis désolée … or, er, I am sorry for the disturbance!”

 

Both Daran and Alacia jumped at the noise, Daran pulling himself quickly off at her only to freeze at the sight of the newcomer.

 

She was slender, more slender than fashionable, really, but he could see the hint of curves under the girl’s v-neck shirt. She was short – shorter than any of his sisters, shorter even than Alanna; her denim jeans were torn at the bottom, as though she trod on them regularly. Her hair was dark, long, but she had twisted it up carelessly, messily, with a clip. She had rectangular glasses, with heavy, thick, black frames that set off her dark, almond-shaped eyes perfectly. She evidently hadn’t bothered with makeup that day, but in his opinion, she didn’t need it. Her pink lips were pursed into a little “oh” and he could tell from her words and her accent that she was French, or perhaps Swiss.

 

She was _gorgeous_.

 

“Oh, hi!” Alacia said, springing up and running a loose hand through her hair sheepishly, shoving her other hand to the other girl. “You must be Héloise. My name is Alacia Sweetspring, but you can call me Lace. I’m at the School for Performing Arts, double major in music and theatre. Oh, and I hope you don’t mind that I took the bed closer to the door – if it bothers you too much, we can switch.”

 

“Héloise Lin,” the girl said slowly, reaching to shake Alacia’s hand. “I’m studying mathematics. The other bed is fine, and …” She tilted her head questioningly towards Daran.

 

Daran snapped out of it, sliding over immediately to Héloise. “Daran Smythesson,” he said smoothly, taking her hand and holding it. “I’m in first year, too, but I don’t have a major yet. Has anyone told you that you’re absolutely, stunningly, beautiful?”

 

Héloise looked at him, her jaw dropped, and quietly pulled her hand from his grasp.

 

XXX

 

_Two weeks previous…_

 

He saw her only a handful of times throughout orientation and the start of the school year. Perhaps a little more than a handful, really, but nowhere near as much as he would have liked. During student orientation, an almost-weeklong affair in and of itself, she had disappeared into the mass of science and engineering students and reappeared only in Alacia’s room. Alacia said that she was often there, but she seemed often to disappear when he showed up, on the rare occasion he could show up. Fencing was picking up, and between his classes, practice, and Alacia’s intense schedule of classes and extracurriculars, he couldn’t exactly hang out in her room whenever he wanted.

 

According to Alacia, Héloise was “cool, in a nerdy sort of way” – he pumped her for all the information she could give him, and from it, he figured out the following: Héloise was at Royal on a full scholarship, all expenses paid. She worked for one of the mathematics professors coding for pocket money. In her spare time, she liked reading _les bandes dessinees,_ which she sometimes ordered from FNAC across the border. She played niche, story-based video games and had a penchant for slow, romantic dramas and police shows. She was part of both the Asian Students Association and the French Students Association. She hated eating in the communal dining room and usually grabbed a plate to take to her room. She spent a lot of time in the maths and physics students’ lounge, which was unfortunately locked and needed a passcode (he had tried, just to say he was “passing by”, but without any luck).

 

Two weeks in, he had finally convinced, through the mechanism of intense grovelling and a promise of an introduction to one of the guys on the fencing team that she thought was “cute”, Alacia to intercede on his behalf.

 

“So,” she said, dropping into the seat across from him at the Students Union. She handed him a cup of coffee. “I talked to her about it. It was kind of awkward, Daran – you owe me.”

 

“I know, I know,” he groaned. “You said. Just tell me what happened.”

 

She shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. It’s not that she dislikes you, or anything like that. She’s put off because, first, she walked in on us snogging, and then you came on to her like, really intensely – basically, like, chill out.”

 

He frowned. That was a pitiful amount of information, really, for this trade. “Really, Lace? That’s what you got for me to swing an introduction for you for Pawlitke?”

 

Lace laughed. “No, don’t be ridiculous. I got her to agree to a formal introduction later this month. Don’t go overboard. So – When do I get to meet Pawlitke?”

 

“Come after practice today and I’ll introduce you.”

 

XXX

_Half an hour ago…_

 

So, there he was, anxiously fidgeting as Alacia led her roommate across the Student’s Union floor. Héloise was wearing a v-neck shirt again, this time in black, but had paired it with a light blue skirt and beat-up black flats. Her hair had been tucked into a messy bun with a pencil shoved through it – it was loose, bobbing in the air, and looked as though it was about to fall apart at a second’s notice. She had a large tote bag slung over one shoulder, evidently stuffed with books. She glanced at him and said something to Lace, who smiled and patted her on the back – he couldn’t hear it, but he hoped it was favourable.

 

She still looked absolutely perfect. He’d dressed to impress, today – he had put product into his hair, put on a classic collared shirt with his old Crown Academy cardigan on top. He had hesitated about putting on any part of his old uniform, having spent five years in the damn thing, but Alacia had assured him that the sweater emphasized his broad shoulders and athletic form and convinced him to wear it. He hoped it would do the trick. He got to his feet as they approached his table – a tiny table for two, tucked in a back corner of the Student’s Union, rather far from the café, if truth be told. It was a little quieter there.

 

“Hey, Daran,” Alacia said casually, in English. “This is my roommate, Héloise.”

 

“Hello,” Héloise added, that word simple music to his ears.

 

“Héloise is more comfortable in French or English than in Tortallan. I have to get to my ensemble to work on a project, so I have to take off, so I’ll leave you to it.” Alacia gave Héloise a pat on the back, murmured something in her ear, and disappeared into the crowd. She wasn’t actually disappearing, he knew – the plan was for her to find an out of the way place in the Students Union, probably with a view, and wait.

 

“So,” he said, turning his attention to Héloise and offering his hand. She didn’t take it, and he dropped it quickly. “My French is frankly terrible, so I hope you don’t mind staying in English. Can I get you something to drink?”

 

“That is fine, and tea would be great,” she said, tilting her head up at him curiously. “Shall I stay here?”

 

“I’ll be right back,” Daran replied, belatedly pulling out a chair for her to take a seat. She took it rather gingerly, looking down at the table itself. It was surprisingly clean one, mostly because Daran had taken care of wiping it down.

 

The lines at the café were longer than he would have liked, and by the time he returned, she had pulled out a textbook and a clipboard and was scribbling away. She looked up and pulled her books off the table as he set down the two drinks.

 

“Your tea,” he said, sliding it across the small table as he took a seat, bumping her legs accidentally. She pulled her legs out of the way, letting him claim most of the space under the table.

 

“Thank you,” she replied. Her eyes, dark brown, looked up into his, curious. “So you asked I come meet you because….?”

 

“Uh,” he scrambled for a reply. Alacia’s words came back to him: you came across too intensely. Chill out. “I think we got off on the wrong foot, and, uh, I’d like to get to know you better,” he blurted out.

 

“Why?” she asked, bluntly, her eyebrows furrowing. “I’ve heard about you – you’re famous on campus. You’re here on a fencing scholarship, and you’re one of the best junior fencers in this country. I’m just you friend’s roommate. Why?”

 

“Well, um,” he stuttered. _Be chill, be chill_. “Alacia likes you, and I like to meet her friends too?”

 

“Please don’t lie to me,” she said, brown eyes (so soft and kind) sparking. She stood up, picking up her tea.

 

“Okay, okay,” Daran rushed, standing up. He towered over her, yet somehow she was more intimidating. “I like you, okay? Let me take you on a date, a proper date!”

 

“I’m not sure how I feel about that,” she replied. “I’m sorry, but I’m not interested in being part of your group of girls – I’m the one-and-done kind. Thank you for the tea, though.”

 

XXX

 

“Oh, good God, Daran, get your ass out of bed and stop moping.”

 

He looked over to the door morosely, seeing Alacia march in looking distinctly unimpressed. Even with the warning, he was somehow caught unprepared for sudden jerk and slide to the floor as she rudely pulled his blankets out from under him. She was surprisingly tough, Alacia – probably had something to do with corralling dancers all the time.

 

“This is absolutely ridiculous,” she muttered, pulling out his desk chair and taking a seat to stare at him sternly. Before Héloise, he would have noted her outfit – Alacia had always been well put together, especially so since they started university and didn’t have to wear uniforms. Today, she had a pair of brown heeled boots with red buttons up the side, paired with navy blue tights and a burgundy dress. Today, he noticed these things, but honestly could not care less. “You’re acting like a lovesick idiot who’s been dumped and everything’s over. Have you even gone to class? Fencing practice?”

 

“Fencing practice, yeah,” he grumbled, sitting upright against his bed and stretching his legs out. “Classes… some of them.”

 

Alacia sighed. “You’re an idiot. Pull your shit together, man. At this rate it doesn’t matter how great of a fencer you are, you’re going to bomb your midterms and put your spot on the team at risk. It’s not like you’ve been dumped, now get up. You have your econ class in an hour. You have time to shower, then I’m going to walk your ass there, and then Jakob is going to take you to your intro to business class. Oh, and I’m dating Jakob now, did I tell you? I’m sure I told you, but I can’t tell if it got through your idiot head.”

 

Daran blinked. “Jakob…?”

 

She sighed, a long-suffering sigh of the truly aggravated. “Pawlitke. Your teammate. The guy who is so charmingly … _German_.”

 

“Oh, right.”

 

“Now get up. Shower. Stop acting like an idiot. It’s not like you’ve been _dumped_ , good God.”

 

Daran sighed. Somehow, Alacia was always able to make him do things even if he didn’t really want to. Maybe it was just the fact that she’d never really led him wrong, maybe it was the fact that she had pulled out a score and looked as though she was about to swat him with it if he refused, maybe it was just that he knew she would make a very loud fuss if he refused and that it wasn’t worth fighting, but he got up and headed for the shower. Still, he couldn’t just go without having last word. “But it kind of is like I’ve been dumped,” he muttered softly.

 

“I heard that, Daran Smythesson, and get over yourself,” he heard Alacia call out behind him. “But you’re so pitiful right now, let me tell you my good news – I convinced Héloise to come to the intervarsity fencing competition in a week. I’ll probably even convince her to come out for drinks with us after, but if you’re failing most of your courses, I’m pretty sure she still won’t be interested in you.”

 

Daran stopped in his tracks, a light feeling sweeping through him, and he knew there was a grin spreading across his face. “Really?”

 

“Yes, really, you big fool. Now, go shower!”

 

XXX

 

The next week passed in a flurry of activity – he got notes from people for all the classes he’d missed (being a fencing star certainly had its advantages on that point), caught up on the three assignments that he hadn’t quite missed but certainly hadn’t worked on at all while moping for two weeks, and aced his first midterm. There was a plan, this weekend: first, she was going to come watch him fence, and he was going to bring the intervarsity cup home to Royal. Then, he was going to take that cup over to Héloise and present it to her, and he would tell her he won it for her, and she would be so impressed and flattered. And then, they would go for drinks with Alacia and Jakob (who turned out to be a pretty cool guy, if a little stiff), and she would be swept off her feet and would date him. Yes. That was the plan, and it couldn’t go wrong, could it?

 

The first part of the plan went swimmingly. Héloise did come, side by side with Alacia, who had apparently taken the pains to dress her that day. She was wearing one of Alacia’s vintage dresses, in sea blue with a loose bow at her neck, and her hair was curled and put half up. It was the first time he’d seen her with her hair down, and he realized with a surprise that, even curled, her hair cascaded more than halfway down her back.

 

She was stunning.

 

Spotting him, Alacia waved, and Héloise gave him a faint smile. He returned it, both the smile and the wave, and felt someone clap him on the shoulder.

 

“Don’t overdo it,” Jakob said, not bothering to keep his voice, a low German burr, down. With the distance between them and the buzz in the salle, there was no way the girls be able to hear him anyway. “That wave was for me. We’re up soon, so put yourself together and focus.

 

Part two of the plan was winning the competition. The Royal Intercollegiate was no small competition – most of the universities and colleges sent a team, making a direct elimination grid of more than sixteen, but less than thirty-two. Even with a bye past the first round, the Daran’s team was looking at having to defeat three teams before they could look at the finals – easier said than done. At bare minimum, he was familiar with his teammates – both were former Crown Academy graduates, and as a surprise Jakob Pawlitke filled out their alternate spot. Less fortunately, Yannick Marmist was evidently having an off day and after losing two matches a row in the second round, Daran and his other teammate, second-year Laurence Shaila, made the decision to pull him from competition and substitute Jakob instead. Even so, the finals match was a mess, and if it hadn’t been for the eight points he managed to score in the final three minutes at the end, they would not have walked with the cup. 

 

But they did, and as far as Daran was concerned, that was an even better finish to Part Two than a simple win would have been. There was winning a team competition – and then there was knowing that his team had won _because of him,_ and while he wasn’t carried off to the stands by his overly exuberant teammates, it was only by a small measure of insistence that he wasn’t. And when his eyes sought out Héloise in the crowd, she had a small smile on her face, and she was clapping, if a little more reservedly than Alacia, who was jumping up and down in the seat beside her. She was impressed, right? Certainly that meant she was impressed.

 

Yes, Part Two of the plan was a resounding success.

 

“Wasn’t that great?!” he panted, meeting both girls when they descended from the stands. One of Jakob’s arms was slung over his shoulder, both of them sporting shining gold medals. Alacia laughed, pulled out her phone, and snapped a picture.

 

“Great job, boys. I especially liked your point in the semi-final – the one you called video review for, Jakob.”

 

“I don’t know fencing very well,” Héloise admitted. “But it was very interesting, nonetheless.”

 

Daran couldn’t actually _give_ her the Royal Cup, for multiple reasons including the fact that, first, his other teammates were holding it, and second, apparently it belonged to the school and they were only allowed to take pictures with it and then they had to return it. So, instead, he slung his shining gold medal over her neck. “Here. I won it for you!”

 

She laughed, and reached up to pull it off and hand it back to him. “Thank you, I think, but I couldn’t.”

 

He waved his hand airily, triumph swelling in his chest. That laugh felt better than winning the actual competition had, probably because it was the first truly positive interaction he had had with her in, well, ever. “No, no, it’s yours,” he replied. “I have tons of them. Like I said, I won it for you.”

 

Héloise’s smile became slightly more dubious, but she accepted it with good grace.

 

“Drinks!” Alacia interrupted. “Celebratory drinks! Come on, Héloise, you promised you’d come. Promised!”

 

The girl sighed. “I don’t even drink,” she muttered, but allowed her roommate to grab her hand and pull her along. Daran reached over to take her other hand, or wrap an arm around her the way that Jakob had already wrapped his around Alacia’s, but caught the look in his friend’s eye, and the slight shake of her head, and stopped. Right. The plan involved being cool, and being desperate was never cool.

 

Too bad he couldn’t convince his later, more inebriated, self to refrain from the same. There was a very public love ballad involved at some point, he recalled through his morning hangover, followed by a highly embarrassed Héloise simply abandoning them at the bar.

 

XXX

 

“You couldn’t resist, could you?” Alacia whispered, settling her books beside him in the library about a week after that. Even if he was feeling morose, it was the middle of midterms. Maybe he wasn’t the greatest student, though he probably wouldn’t have gotten into a school like Royal on the strength of his grades alone, but it wasn’t that he didn’t _care_. He never missed assignments, anyway, even if he didn’t do all that well in them.

 

“Shut up,” he muttered in reply, pushing the pile of papers closest to her away so she could join him. “Why did you let me do that?”

 

She shrugged, sitting down and cracking open a musical theory book. “Jakob and I both tried to stop you, but no, you insisted. Really? Il Volo’s _Grande Amore_? If you were going to do something like that, you should have at least chosen a shitty, sappy pop song, you sounded like a dying cow. And then the fact you did it on a stage, in front of most of your teammates and a fair proportion of the school body… What did you expect?”

 

He winced. “Do you need to go on about it?”

 

She grinned. “Yes, I do. And then you pulled her up on the stage and _serenaded_ her with it – it _was_ quite the spectacle. She’s in hiding, you know.”

 

“Really?” He ran a hand through his hair, embarrassed.

 

“Yeah,” she replied, shaking her head at him. “You have to know, you really have to think about these things. You’re, like, one of the most popular first years on campus. You’re a top fencer, you just won a major competition for the university, you’re friendly and you get along well with people. You get invited to parties pretty much every weekend. Two of the girls in my vocal ensemble cornered me to ask if you had a girlfriend. Another girl in my introduction to theatre class doodles your name in a heart in class, which she spends all class decorating with like, vines and flowers and shit.”

 

“So?”

 

She sighed, rolled her eyes at his denseness. “It’s just a bit much for someone like Héloise.”

 

He blinked. “I don’t understand what you mean. She’s nice.”

 

“That’s exactly it, though,” Alacia explained, annoyed. “She’s _nice_. She’s not particularly outgoing, she doesn’t really _go out_ the way I do, or the way you do – she studies maths, for gods’ sake. I’m pretty sure her first time at a bar was last week, and I practically had to drag her there. She’s not used to dealing with your kind of attention, or with all the, like, _utter crap_ that comes with it.”

 

“What do you mean, the crap that comes with it?” He asked, slightly defensive. People around them were turning to look, and he heard a couple people signal them to quiet down.

 

“I don’t really know how to explain it,” Alacia whispered, rolling her eyes at the other students. “It’s like… well, okay, so remember I said two girls in my vocal ensemble cornered me to ask if you were seeing anyone? I said that you weren’t, but that you weren’t really looking either. They asked me why, and they started grilling me about it. I told them to get lost and said the first step to getting a date is actually having the balls to talk to the guy himself instead of to his friends, and they went off in a snit, but you know Héloise wouldn’t even think about doing that. Even as your friend, she would get harassed a lot more – as your girlfriend, like your actual girlfriend, there would be, like, a spotlight that she wouldn’t be used to and wouldn’t know how to deal with, so… you get what I’m saying.”

 

Daran frowned. “Maybe?”

 

Alacia banged her head against the table, very quietly and gently. “I’ll break it down, really simply for you - you publicly serenaded her in a crowded bar full of Royal students. People talk about that, she’s getting stares on campus and a bit of grief over it. Like, ‘why her?’ kind of comments. You’ve got a choice – you can either lay off on it for a while, until it dies down, or you have to step up and actively discourage that shit when it happens.”

 

He looked up, into the ceiling beams, as the pieces finally clicked. “Oh, _fuck_. You’re saying she’s got the Josianes of the school after her.”

 

“Yeah, basically …” Alacia replied, tilting her head back and forth. “It’s a more complicated than that, though. Sure, there are the people who are just going to be cruel because they find it entertaining, but a lot of people … A lot of people just join in, too, because it’s funny to them, or because they want other people to like them or for whatever reason. And for those people, the way you’ve just been laughing it off isn’t really doing you any favours, you’re basically agreeing that it’s funny that you did it. Which, don’t get me wrong, it was hilarious. But there’s laughing with someone, and laughing at someone, and let me tell you that Héloise isn’t laughing.”

 

Daran looked down at his notebook, feeling a swell of shame from her admonishment under his breastbone that he wasn’t sure he should be feeling at all. “I’m not sure I get it.”

 

“That’s why you have me to do your political thinking for you.” She grinned. “But cheer up. On the bright side, Héloise wore that gold medal under her sweatshirt for about three days after you gave it to her.”

 

XXX

 

For all that Alacia said she helped him out, she really wasn’t very much of a help. Even after she had explained it to him two or three more times, he still didn’t really understand her point, and finally she threw her hands into the air and told him to just listen, as in really _listen,_ to what people were saying about the whole thing. And on top of it all, she banned him from her dorm room entirely.

 

“No”, she said when he had asked. “Look, you kind of got yourself in this mess. Héloise deserves a place where people will leave her alone and where she can chill out and relax.”

 

“But, Lace, I just want to apologize to her,” he pleaded. He pouted, slightly; it sometimes worked.

 

She just rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You can track her down at her classes, or in the physics and maths student lounge, or in the cafeteria if you really want, but you’re going to leave her alone when she’s in our room.”

 

So that’s what he ended up doing. Classes were a bit of a lost cause – as first years, the classes were so big he always seemed to miss her coming out of them. He knew she had a few smaller classes which were more specialized, but he didn’t know where they were and the science complex was a rabbit warren; it was one of the oldest parts of the university, with buildings built almost on top of and added to other buildings, with a layout that only a madman could remember. He tried the physics and maths student lounge at lunch for four days in a row, but three times she wasn’t there, and the last time, another girl had walked out and shut the door after herself.

 

“Look,” she said, blue eyes sharp and tone blunt. “Héloise isn’t here. And even if she were, we wouldn’t tell you. Don’t you think you’ve caused enough trouble? Leave the poor girl alone and let the whole thing blow over.”

 

So there he was, resorting to eating at the Sydenham Hall cafeteria every night, keeping an eye out for her. It was stupid, and a long shot, because he well knew that she generally just took a plate of food to her room, but he had to apologize. It was the only gentlemanly thing to do, and really he should have done it right after the whole serenading thing happened at all. And the fact that it meant he would get to see her, actually see her for the first time in almost two weeks, well… He could hardly apologize by text, or note through Alacia, now could he?

 

And it wasn’t so bad – he didn’t lack for company, anyway. There was always a table that was willing to accommodate him, and it was there that what Alacia was telling him finally clicked.

 

“That finals match must have been _insane_ ,” the redhead, he thought her name was Mallorie or something, said, sighing. She was all right, he thought, though he hadn’t met her before. He looked over at the line of students coming out of the kitchens, looking for a place to sit. No sign of a familiar, bobbing, black, ponytail. “I mean, Royal was what, fourteen points down at one point?! I wish I hadn’t missed it, but my parents were in town.”

 

“It really was something,” the blonde girl, sitting across from him, agreed. “Yeah, I think it was a fifteen point gap at most, right?”

 

Daran looked back at his tablemates, who were kind enough to let him sit with them that day, and nodded non-committedly, distractedly. Were people still talking about that match? Well, at least it made for an easy conversation – he only had this conversation every day or so. “Yeah, Marmist had an off day. It happens to the best of us.” He glanced over, again, to the cafeteria line. No luck.

 

“Wow,” the redhead replied, sighing again. “I wish I had seen it!”

 

“No, let me tell you what you really missed, Mallorie,” the guy sitting beside him, Lucas, he thought, cut in, grinning and nudging him. He was in Daran’s intro to business class, and they had chatted maybe twice before. “You really missed the after-party at the Duke.  Daran goes on stage, right, and starts wailing out this crazy opera song about love. And if that isn’t crazy enough, he pulls up this tiny girl from our dorm, Héloise Lin on 2D, and starts singing it to her, and she’s turning redder than a tomato…”

 

“I was drunk,” Daran shrugged, sneaking another look at the cafeteria line. Nothing.

 

The girls laughed. “Well, I suppose you’d have to be,” Mallorie said. “You did get up on a stage in front of most of the school and sing something really weird.”

 

“And you sang it to _Héloise Lin_ , of all people,” the blonde added. “Was she just the closest one to you, or something?”

 

Daran turned back to her, for the first time putting his full attention on the conversation. “I’m sorry?” he asked. He couldn’t possibly have heard right – surely that undercurrent of mockery when she said Héloise’s name was just him hearing things, right?

 

“I asked, was Héloise just the closest one to you, or what?” the blonde repeated, grinning. “I mean, it’s _Héloise_.”

 

“What’s wrong with Héloise?” He frowned at her. He didn’t know her, he didn’t think.

 

“Oh, well,” she backtracked. “Well, you know, it’s just… she’s just… weird.”

 

“How so?”

 

“She’s kind of a nerd, isn’t she?” Mallorie commented anxiously, trying to smoothe things over. “There’s nothing wrong with her, Brienne just didn’t think you’d be interested in someone like that.”

 

“And why not?” he demanded. “She’s really smart, and she’s nice, and she’s beautiful. I don’t see why I _wouldn’t_ be interested in her.”

 

“There isn’t any problem,” Lucas interrupted, clapping him on the shoulder and shooting the girls a warning look. “None at all.”

 

 After that, he didn’t go back. The words, though, haunted him – since that conversation, he heard, really heard, what people were saying about them, and understood (sort of, anyway), what Alacia had explained. It was funny, sure, a hilarious night, but the laughter was at least partially premised on the fact that people didn’t think Héloise was good enough for him.

 

And suddenly it wasn’t so funny anymore.

 

XXX

 

“But Lace, what do I _do_ about it?”

 

They were in the student centre, near the tables where Daran had had that disastrous introduction. Alacia and Jakob were there, Alacia with a hefty bowl of salad in front of her and Jakob with a cup of ramen noodles.

 

Alacia shrugged. “Well, understanding is a step forward, at least,” she said optimistically. “What do you want to do about it? You can let it all die down naturally, or you can stick up for her every time you hear something and hope it kills it faster instead of prolonging it.”

 

“But you want a date with this girl, isn’t that right?” Jakob added, his deep burr thoughtful. “In that case, I think letting it die down naturally might be contrary to that goal – you’d have to essentially ignore her for awhile.”

 

“I think that’s out, anyway,” Alacia smirked, catching the sheepish look that flicked across Daran’s face. “He did basically stalk her for a week. She didn’t even go to the cafeteria most of last week – got wraps from the late-night cafe instead. And I heard some people talking about how Daran might have admitted that he liked Héloise to some other students in the cafeteria.”

 

Daran sighed, shooting Alacia a dark look. He hadn’t known that. It explained a lot. “So I repeat: what do I _do?_ ”

 

“I don’t know,” she replied, shrugging. “Stick up for her. Don’t be ashamed of the fact you like her. As for how to get her to talk to you, I have no idea. She doesn’t _dislike_ you – that ridiculous medal’s under her pillow now. Honestly, I don’t really understand that part either.”

 

XXX

 

Alacia was usually so good at these things, and without her insight, Daran turned to the next best thing: sisters.

 

There had to be some advantages to having, for all intents and purposes, four of them, right?

 

Alinna was the least helpful. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting by asking her – she _was_ his baby sister, after all, and being all of fifteen years old, she shouldn’t even be _dating_ yet, especially without her big brother to scare any suitors. And sure enough, her answer, following a pregnant pause, was blunt.

 

“… Why are you asking me this?” she said, her tone a mix of incredulity and annoyance. “You have way more experience at relationships than I do. I thought you were calling about fencing – congratulations on your win, by the way, I heard from Dad.  Eight points in the final match? Nicely done. Is there video?”

 

“I just thought you might have some ideas,” Daran replied. “Yes, eight points – I don’t know if there’s video.”

 

“How can you _not know_ whether there was video?”

 

“Because I don’t pay attention to whether my matches are being recorded or not,” he replied, shaking his head. It was predictably Alinna – she loved to watch fencing videos almost as much as she loved fencing, which he always thought was pretty weird. He loved fencing, and he liked watching matches, but watching matches over and over again on YouTube? That was a bit much. He heard Alinna sigh.

 

“Well, get some video next time,” she said. “As for your problem, I really don’t know. You should call Elenna on this – she’ll make fun of you, but she’s been seeing the same guy for like, two years and might know better.”

 

“I will,” Daran groaned. “I was avoiding that for exactly that reason. But if you were Héloise, how would you want me to make it up to her?”

 

“Hmm…” There was a pause, and Daran could hear a tapping noise in the background. “Well, I’d probably want some fencing-related present – like a new sabre or fencing glove or something. But I’m not Héloise, and I’m pretty sure that won’t work.”

 

Daran managed to get Rose and Elenna on the phone together. They did have separate cell phones, but they had somehow managed to finagle rooms beside each other in the Crown Academy dorms, so Elenna simply walked over the Rose’s room and put him on speakerphone.

 

He explained his predicament, and there was a long pause, followed by loud peals of laughter – both twins, he supposed.

 

“I TOLD YOU SO!” he heard Elenna gasp between giggles. “I told you you’d pay for it! And you didn’t listen to me, or to Rose, or to Dad… “

 

“You don’t have to rub it in, Elenna,” he replied, annoyed. Maybe she was right, but she didn’t need to go on about it. “I know. So what do I do about it?”

 

“Well, it’s not like there’s one answer to that,” Rose replied, stifling her last few giggles. He could hear Elenna still laughing in the background. “It’s not like girls fall into, like, one category and there’s a one size fit all solution. What’s this girl like?”

 

“Well, she’s beautiful, and kind, and French, and…”

 

“No, no, not that,” Elenna cut in. “We mean: what does she do? What does she study? What does she do with her spare time? Has she joined any clubs?”

 

“Oh, well…” Daran paused. “She’s in maths, on scholarship. I think she studies a lot, or she reads a lot, anyway. Sometimes she reads comic books. She works as a research assistant in her spare time. I don’t know if she’s in any clubs, but she spends a lot of time in the physics and maths student lounge.”

 

“And Linn told you to get some sort of apology gift, right?” Rose hummed a little. “Well, if she’s working, she probably doesn’t have a ton of extra money, so it’s not a bad idea, as long as you choose the right gift.”

 

“Yeah, but I would avoid comics – books are good, because she probably thinks you’re a total bonehead –“

 

“And given that she’s on scholarship in maths, compared to her you probably are a total bonehead –“

 

“And a book, with something written inside for apology, I think that would at least show you’re thoughtful,” Elenna finished.

 

“I don’t just want to apologize, though,” Daran replied, getting up to grab a notepad off his desk and scribbling their suggestion down. “I want her to give me a chance, like a real chance.”

 

There was another pause on the other end, so much so that he pulled the phone away from his ear just to make sure he hadn’t muted the thing. “Elenna? Rose?”

 

“Yeah,” Rose replied. “We’re thinking about it. The apology present has to come first, because she has to start talking to you again. Once she does…”

 

“Call us again. And try Alanna, she’s had more drama in her love life than we’ve had.”

 

Which was true, Daran thought, as he tapped the end-call button and called Alanna instead. Alanna _had_ had a rather dramatic few years, romantically speaking. Of his sisters, he had to say that he probably failed the hardest at scaring off _her_ suitors – but between Jon De Conte and George Cooper, it wasn’t as though he had much of a chance.

 

Alanna listened to his dilemma, and while she laughed, it wasn’t a repeat of the hilarity from Elenna and Rose. “Well, I can’t say you shouldn’t have expected this situation, but what’s done is done. So tell me again what she said when you asked her out?”

 

“She said, ‘I’m the one and done kind, _’_ ”, Daran repeated. It was the kind of thing that stuck in his memory.

 

“No, before she said that. The thing about not wanting to be part of a group?”

 

“Oh, uhh… I’m not interested in being one of your girls,” Daran fumbled. “Something like that?”

 

“Hmm,” Alanna replied. “Well, I doubt you’ve been playing the girls there as much as you did here, since you met her on your first day and Alacia is now seeing someone. I imagine the player image problem you have will disappear as long as you show you’re committed to her – by sticking up for her, sticking to the fact that you’re interested in her, don’t mess around with other girls, and so on.”

 

“How could I? Héloise is just… I don’t even know how to describe it. She’s stunning, she’s intelligent, she’s polite, she has the cutest accent when she speaks Tortallan…”

 

He heard Alanna choke on the other side, and make a gagging noise. “Eugh. You have it bad, don’t you? Anyway – Rose and Elenna have it right, I think a book or something you know that she would like would be good. After that… is she romantic?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Eugh. Like, roses and chocolates and love poems and stuff. Please don’t read me your love poetry, I love you like a brother but not that much.”

 

“Oh,” Daran replied, thinking it over. He’d have to check that with Alacia. “I don’t know?”

 

Alanna sighed. “Well, after the book-pology… You said she was French, right? What do the French have that we don’t?”

 

“Umm… protests?  Other French people?”

 

“No, as in, what do you think she would be homesick for?”

 

“Alanna, if you’re saying I need to turn French…”

 

“No, idiot,” she laughed. “Try pastries, or macarons or something. But if you really want to date this girl, I think brushing up on your French would be smart.”

 

XXX

 

The first part, being committed and sticking up for her, that was easy. Jakob was an easy recruit to his cause, on that front – one cold raised eyebrow from him often shut people up right away. He was serious, taciturn, and somehow that made him all the more believable when he quietly let it be known that Daran really was in love with Héloise, and people had better leave them alone.

 

As for himself, he found it surprisingly enjoyable to interrupt conversations and wax on about Héloise’s good qualities, or at least the ones he knew about. A couple of five minute soliloquys on that topic, along with all the good qualities he supposed she had, and people would simply stop talking about the whole thing.

 

The second, part, however…

 

“As much as I love shopping, Daran, we’ve been in this bookstore for _two hours_ already.” Alacia crossed her arms, checking her watch impatiently. Daran, on the other hand, was scrutinizing two books that he had pulled from the shelves – not comic books, though, which in retrospect might have been easier. “If it has to be a book, get a police thriller or something – the French love police thrillers, it’s a whole genre called _policiers_.”

 

“But it’s not really serious enough…” he mumbled in reply, then decisively shoved one of the titles back into the bookcase it belonged in. “I don’t get these kinds of books, and anyway you said she liked watching police dramas, not reading them. You said she wasn’t romantic?”

 

“I don’t _know_ ,” Alacia snapped. “As I said three times in the last two hours, some of the comics she reads are romantic ones, but a lot of them aren’t. It’s not like I’ve gone up and asked her, ‘hey, do you like flowers and chocolates and shit’?”

 

“Well, could you?”

 

“No, not even for you. That would definitely be too awkward. No, don’t get her the vampire romance novel, those books are awful. Let’s move on to the stationary or gifts section, that might work better. Maybe you should just put together a gift basket type thing for her – with pens and notebooks and stuff. She likes Staedtler stuff, she was kind of upset last week when her pen ran out of ink. Why are you looking for a book anyway?”

 

“Because Rose and Elenna said it would make me look like less of a bonehead?”

 

Alacia snorted. “And look like twice the idiot if she asks you any questions about it?”

 

Daran set down the other book quickly, letting out a sigh. “Point taken. Let’s go fill a basket.”

 

They didn’t actually fill a basket, but a tote bag that Alacia had deemed “cute, and practical enough that she’ll use it.” There was a notebook, and a colouring book, which Alacia had some reservations about, but the pictures were nice and Daran threw in a set of the thin-tipped pens that apparently Héloise liked. There was a book-light, a couple bookmarks, and a box of cookies, though why the bookstore carried cookies was a mystery. And, since it was getting towards winter, he threw in a soft scarf.

 

“That should do it – it looks like a nice gift without being too over the top,” Alacia said firmly, another hour later. “I’ve had enough. Get the stuff, go home. Write a heartfelt note in the notebook. Google the best French patisseries in Corus. My feet are killing me.”

 

XXX

 

_My darling, dearest, sweet Héloise_ , he wrote.

 

No, that was terrible, and definitely too over the top. And it was the kind of sentiment that called for elegant cursive, not his scribble.

 

_My dearest Héloise…_

No, that was hardly any better. Ugh. Maybe he would be lucky and she just wouldn’t be very romantic?

 

_Héloise,_ he tried again.

 

Too informal. It sounded like he was writing instructions for his team or something, or a note to his sisters. He sighed. He just needed to start writing something down.

 

_Dear Héloise_ ,

 

_I’m sorry about the karaoke thing almost three weeks ago. I know this apology has been a long time in coming, so, sorry for the delay, too. I’m sorry I wrecked your night out, and I’m sorry for laughing afterwards about it too. I didn’t realize, and I should have, that you didn’t find it funny at all. I hope it’s died down, some, in the last couple weeks at least._

_I know I’ve told you this before, but I really like you, and I hope you’ll give me another shot._

_Daran_

 

Wow, it sucked. He stared at the note, frowning. No, it really sucked. He cringed a little reading it over – he was never going to try writing love poetry, if that’s what his apology notes sounded like. And “really like” might be an understatement, but he couldn’t exactly explain the whole Smythesson “The One” syndrome to her in a letter, could he? It sounded nuts to him, even.

 

He snapped the notebook shut, tucked it into the tote bag and headed for the maths and physics student lounge.

 

XXX

 

“She’s not here,” the girl said. It was the same blonde girl that he had run into before.

 

“I know,” he blurted out, and thrust the tote bag into her hands. “Can you just make sure she gets this?”

 

The girl peered at him cautiously, looked down at the tote bag, and her eyes softened ever so slightly. “Yeah, I will.”

 

XXX

 

The next week was absolutely interminable. If it wasn’t for Jakob, who hustled him out of his dorm every morning, he wasn’t sure he would have made most of his classes. Once he was up, it was always easier to make himself go – once he was out of his dorm, and once he attended the first class of the day, he might as well attend the rest. Even so, he skipped out on a couple classes towards the end of the day, usually when Jakob wasn’t there to catch him. He could always catch up later, right?

 

His fencing, too, worsened. It wasn’t that he was scoring fewer points – rather, he had gotten more aggressive so he was scoring a few more points than he would have normally. But in terms of points scored against him, his stats took a dive, and though some days he did much better, on others he did much worse.  By the end of the week, Coach Alaire called him out on it.

 

“Come on, Smythesson. You’re all over the place, this is completely unlike you. It’s a girl, isn’t it?” Daran didn’t reply, but Coach Alaire seemed to know anyway. “Whatever it is, get out and fix it. Get your head on straight, we’ve got another competition in a week.”

 

“Yes, Coach,” he replied, panting slightly as he pulled his mask off and shook the sweat out of his eyes.

 

Honestly, if it wasn’t for the fact that Alacia and Jakob had both read him the riot act, he would have parked himself in front of the physics and maths student lounge for most of the week.

 

XXX

 

Instead, he showed up at the physics and maths student lounge midway through the next week, a box of macarons in hand. There was, it so happened, a Ladurée in Corus, in the Temple district adjoining the former Palace. The macarons cost an arm and a leg, but they were, he was assured, among the very best. There was no note, this time – he couldn’t stomach writing another awful note, and in any case it hadn’t seemed to do anything last time.

 

He knocked, and the same girl poked her head out. He offered her the box, but instead she waved her hand in refusal.

 

“Give it to her yourself,” she said instead, letting Héloise take her place and disappearing back into the lounge.

 

Héloise, looking, he thought, absolutely fantastic in a loose t-shirt, jeans and a cardigan, closed the door softly behind her. There was a pause.

 

“Thank you for the gift,” she said finally. “You didn’t have to.”

 

“Oh, uh,” he replied, flustered. “It was nothing. Um, here.” He offered her the box of macarons.

 

Her mouth formed a soft “oh” as she accepted the embossed box uncertainly. “Um, I don’t know what to say. I couldn’t possibly…”

 

“No, you should,” Daran interrupted. To his embarrassment, he felt a slight flush creeping into his cheeks. He hadn’t blushed since he was a spotty first year at Crown Academy. “I mean… I bought them for you, and if you’d like…”

 

“I would,” she said, accepting the box graciously and looking down at her scuffed trainers, “I mean… I accept your generosity and, um…”

 

“You’re very welcome,” he stuttered, but she continued.

 

“I mean, um, I read your note and, um, I…” She took a deep breath, and looked up into his eyes. “Fine. _One_ date.”

 

“One date,” Daran agreed, a slow, giddy grin spreading across his face.

 

XXX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I welcome feedback!


	13. Holiday Fuss, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Between midterm exams, business opportunities, and the all important question of who to go to the Midwinter Ball with, December is never boring. In other words: Aly does business, Daine tries not to fail any exams, Kel gets asked on a date and Alanna's just going to have fun.

Chapter 11: Holiday Fuss, Part Two

 

When considering where to begin on a new assignment, it was never that simple. Sometimes, Aly had to pound the pavement – rub shoulders with the right people, ask the right questions without seeming to ask anything suspicious at all, so on. Sometimes, depending on the nature of the problem, Aly had to start with somewhat less ethical methods. In any case, the private eye business wasn’t _really_ like it was on television. She hadn’t yet had to get photographic evidence of anyone cheating on their girlfriends or boyfriends, or stage incredibly elaborate ploys that, she thought, would never work anyway. And costumes? Forget costumes. In a boarding school, pretty much everyone knew her by face, if not by name.

 

This case, however… it was a bit different, she mused, opening the package that held her new voice recorder. It was a nifty little device, and wasn’t even that suspicious. It wasn’t like she was buying spying equipment, or anything so obvious. She could tell people that she’d bought it to help her revise for exams – she was an auditory learner! But the best part about these little voice recorders was really the fact that, once taken apart, she could cobble together a tiny, unnoticeable bug to stick in Josiane’s room, program it to react and record only voices, and could download the info from it from outside her hallway. Really, technology was pretty amazing.

 

Breaking into Josiane’s room was the work of seconds. None of the dorm locks were particularly sound (excepting hers, of course), and Josiane would hardly be expecting it. She was at a study meeting with Jon and some fencers, anyway, a meeting that was planned largely so Aly could have free access to Josiane’s room for an hour or so. She wouldn’t need anything longer than that, though Jon had promised to keep her occupied for longer.

 

Once in Josiane’s room, Aly wrinkled her nose in distaste. It wasn’t that there was anything _wrong_ with it, per se, but it was just so… so…. _gaudy_. Evidently Josiane’s tastes ran towards pink, furry, and sparkly, and she decorated everything in it. She had even gotten a pink cover for the standard desk chair that each dorm room came with. Aly gagged – she was going to be blind if she stayed in this room too long. Shaking it head, she looked around for a convenient place to stick the bug, spotted a convenient corner on top of the bookshelf, and jumped up on the chair to fix it.

 

Coming down, she looked over the room more thoroughly. There was a big mirror on the other side of the room, positioned so that Josiane could check every aspect of her appearance every morning, the standard closet, door hanging open to show it was bursting with clothing. Aly gently ran her hands through the fabric, checking for any storage space, but there was none. The floor of the closet was littered with shoes.

 

She moved over to the standard issue night-table and bookcase. There were textbooks, of course, and a fairly wide selection of plays. Aly was faintly surprised at that – although Josiane was in the theatre club and Aly knew she had main roles in several plays, she had assumed that Josiane simply liked being centre of attention. She would have to revise that thought, she considered, flipping casually through Henrik Ibsen’s _A Doll’s House_. It was clearly marked up with thought as to how Josiane would play these characters.

 

She slid the book back into its rightful place in the bookcase, and opened the nighttable drawers. Usual suspects were there – condoms, a couple pens, a notebook. The notebook was not, unfortunately, a diary – it seemed to be mostly empty, though the first couple pages showed, Aly guessed, some attempt at movement planning for a play. She definitely needed to revise her assessment of the girl – whatever else Josiane was, clearly she was fairly serious about being an actress. The back of the book seemed to be a budget for her school expenses – apparently she got a rather general allowance from her father, the number for which made Aly raise her eyebrows, and… spent most of it. Clothes, makeup, shoes, jewelry… Well, at least it was planned spending.

 

Aly looked at the bed carefully, ran her hands under the pillows, and considered there was little point to checking under the mattress. Based on the rest of the room, she didn’t think Josiane was suspicious enough to hide something like a diary so carefully. It didn’t fit with her character, and anyway it would probably be too much work for her to lift up the mattress every time she wanted to write in it. Aly moved towards the computer, tapping it awake with a few strokes of the keyboard.

 

It wasn’t locked. The wallpaper was, perhaps unsurprisingly, pink cartoon flowers on a purple background. Aly opened up her files – standard sorting system, not that that wasn’t pretty much the default on laptops nowadays, documents sorted by classes, theatre, university applications… the usual. Pictures were the same – a surprisingly large number of pictures from the last play she was in, some pictures with friends, a couple cast photos… nothing spectacular. Well, what was she expecting? Incriminating Rittevon Industries information? If it was that easy, she would have had to give Jon back some of his deposit, and she had _plans_ for those 300 euros.

 

Pausing, she pulled out a pen, opened the network settlings, check the system properties and took down a few key numbers on the inside of her arm. The wondrous thing about being at a school and being on the same network was that you really only needed a few key numbers, and perhaps an atypical hacking ability, to be able to access any other computer on the network.

 

Accessing the computer system itself was easy enough, and theoretically Aly would be able to check Josiane’s emails and browser history from her own machine, but there was always the chance that Josiane would wipe her cookies or something. It wasn’t perfect. So, she popped open the browser and took a look into her browser history.

 

Fashion blogs, the school Blackboard for electronic materials and grades, shopping sites… Josiane clearly had an email account through gmail as well as the school accounts, and curiously Aly checked it, ran her eye over Josiane’s emails. A lot of commercial ads – apparently Josiane had a taste for Mango, and there were a number of emails from ASOS as well. A few emails from what looked like old friends from primary school, cousins. Clearly a more personal email address, for close friends, away from the prying eyes of the Crown Academy administration, but still nothing out of the ordinary.

 

But where were her emails with her family, such as her father, older brothers? Oron sent her an allowance – how did that happen? Was it a direct deposit, or did Josiane have her own bank account already? Hmm…

 

The bookmarks provided more of a clue – Josiane had Rittevon Industries bookmarked, which Aly supposed wasn’t _unusual_ , given that it was her family business and all. Still, Josiane never gave the impression she was particularly interested in her family’s business, so Aly clicked on the think.

 

A log-in page popped up.

 

Aly sighed, checking under the keyboard and in the drawer beside her quickly. Sometimes it worked – people were sometimes silly enough to leave their passwords lying about, but apparently Josiane was not one of them. She didn’t have time for a more thorough search or to hack it from this side, so she logged off, wiping all traces that she had been there, and left the room. Pulling out a wire, she poked it into the lock and neatly relocked the room behind her.

 

All the groundwork had been laid – it was just time to wait. And hack a few Rittevon Industries page while she was at it.

 

XXX

 

Kel’s study group became a constant feature in her social life. As the exam season started, most of the clubs shut down, as captains gave orders to hunker down and study. For her group, it wasn’t as though the exams counted for much – family pride, perhaps – but they were years away from applying for universities, so really it came down to a need to study because each of them were expected to bring home decent marks.

 

“What did you get for question 1b?” Neal was asking Maura and Cleon on Kel’s left. All the final exams were the same for each class, regardless of which class or what language that class was taken in. “I got 4.4, but you _know_ what they say about fractions on exams…”

 

Maura rolled her eyes at him, flipping open her sociology textbook. “Neal, I lived the exam once – I don’t need to live it again. I am _not_ doing this with you.”

 

Neal turned his head hopefully towards Cleon, who shrugged. “I left that one blank after I got stuck – I thought I would come back to it later.”

 

Neal sighed deeply, dropping his head onto his palms.  “You’re both awful, leaving me to suffer alone.”

 

Kel shook her head. Neal had a habit of trying to rehash his exams with others after the fact, and they had all long since learned not to engage him in it. It only made him more panicked as he imagined errors that might or might not have happened.

 

On her other side, most of her fellow first years were already hard at work. She spotted Linn and Margarry comparing work – she thought they were in the same German class.

 

She sighed and turned back to her own work. She had had her Tortallan exam this morning, which went well enough, she supposed – she understood the poems and material well enough, it was more a question of how harshly they graded her on her grammar and spelling. The Tortallan written language was seriously in need of an update, and she came from a kanji-based system. She had already written the sciences and maths exams, as well – neither had been a problem. Still, there was French tomorrow, and it was probably the exam she dreaded most. Neal had offered to pass her some of his old exams, but his classes were so much more advanced that hers that it hadn’t been helpful at all.

 

Instead, she worked through most of the revision questions and poked Neal.

 

“Hmm?” he asked, looking up from his science textbook. “Need help?”

 

“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind?” she replied politely, sliding over her answers.

 

“Sure,” he replied. He skimmed over her answers quickly, marking her errors with a blue pen. “Here you have to use the verb être, not the verb avoir, as the auxiliary verb – the verbs taking être are mostly movement or action verbs, except for naître and mourir, I suppose… so you may as well just memorize them. Otherwise, good job.”

 

Kel let out an aggravated breath. She hated memorizing things – she infinitely preferred mathematics and sciences for that very reason, because there was always the option of using logic to simply reason out the answer. However, one did not question their sempai, so she flipped open the cursed book, and got to work memorizing.

 

It was only a couple hours later when Faleron, across the table from Kel, let out a yawn and shut his books with a snap. His yawn led to a storm of yawns in the closest group to him, including Maura, who had been working with him, and a few first years.

 

“I’m done for the night,” he commented blearily. “There’s little more I can do, so I may as well go relax and sleep.”

 

“Me, too,” Maura added, sliding her book into her messenger bag beside her. “See you all tomorrow.”

 

It was only ten minutes later when Kel spotted Merric, Prosper and Seaver packing their books. “We’re off too,” Merric said, Seaver nodding behind him. Some of the study group stayed longer, but finally, around 11 that night, it was only Kel, Neal and Cleon left.

 

Kel had long since memorized the grammatical points Neal had told her to, and for the last couple hours had simply been drilling the exercises that she had often done before. If nothing else, she would hopefully have simply memorized the answers instead of finding any sort of rhyme or reason to it. She looked up, finally, and realized that Neal was packing up.

 

“It’s over tomorrow for me anyway,” he sighed. “I might as well go and await the inevitable.”

 

Kel nodded solemnly. She couldn’t say that exam-time Neal was her favourite person – his penchant for drama and hyperbole tended, on one hand, to stress out others in the study group – but she had long since understood that it was Neal’s form of reassurance. The worse he expected things to be, the better he felt at the end. Or so the theory went. “I am sure you will be fine,” she commented dryly.

 

“On the bright side, if I fail…” he started, but caught Cleon’s scowl, beside him. He sighed, clearly getting a message that Kel didn’t. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Kel.”

 

He was gone before Kel could ask what he meant by that. She shook her head at his antics, then turned to Cleon. “I think that means we should probably go to bed as well.”

 

“Yeah,” he agreed easily, stacking his books unevenly in front of him. “Hey, Kel?”

 

“Yes?”

 

He took a deep breath. “Will you go to the Midwinter Ball with me?” he said, so quickly Kel wasn’t sure she had caught all of it. In fact, she couldn’t have heard correctly – why would he ask something like that, anyway? She would be the first to admit that, even though she had always spoken Tortallan at home in Japan, sometimes she had difficulty with the language when spoken with a different accent. Cleon spoke with the broad vowels of the central region, quite different than the short and soft ones used by the coastal and Corus accents.

 

“I’m sorry?” she asked. “I’m not sure I understood that.”

 

“Will you go to the Midwinter Ball with me?” he repeated, flushing.

 

She blinked. No, she hadn’t misheard, apparently.

 

“I thought we would all be going as a group?” she asked, instead, feeling her face heat up in turn. Goodness, this was awkward. “Like the Halloween Hop.”

 

Cleon looked away, embarrassed. “Well, there will be a group of people on the kendo team who go together, but the Balls are more formal and people who have dates will go as a couple…” he trailed off.

 

“Oh,” Kel replied. “I see.”

 

Was this _kokuhaku_ , a “love confession”? Or rather, the Tortallan version thereof?

 

“Of course you don’t have to go with me,” Cleon rushed. “It was just an idea, I mean, of course I like you but, you know, if you don’t want to, of course I’ll understand –”

 

“No, um,” Kel interrupted. “No, I mean, yes, I mean, yes, I’ll go to the Ball with you.”

 

He looked up, a goofy smile spreading over his face, and red as she might have been, she couldn’t help but smile back. “Really? I mean, great! You won’t regret this, I promise.”

 

“I’m sure I won’t,” Kel replied. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

 

“Yeah,” he said, picking up his books, looking as though a thousand-tonne weight had been lifted from him. “See you tomorrow!”

 

Kel watched him take off before slowly gathering her own things. That was interesting. She supposed she should probably speak to Linn or Margarry or someone about going to Blue Harbour for a dress.

 

XXX

 

Daine chewed on the end of her pencil, staring down at her chemistry paper. She checked and rechecked the balances – they worked out, she was _pretty sure_. She glanced up – she had only fifteen minutes left, and more than half the class had already packed up and left. That was all right. It didn’t used to be – she used to get so much more stressed watching other people leave, knowing that they apparently found the exams easy enough to finish it and walk out early. Nowadays, well…. Whatever. They could leave whenever they hell they wanted to, but she would stay here checking her answers until time ran out and until they came and physically took her paper away.

 

She had recognized more than half of the kinds of questions they’d asked, so she’d gotten through about three-quarters of the exam without too much trouble. There would always be mistakes, far too many of them, even on the questions she understood – she was in the unfortunate habit of transposing her numbers, or sometimes just adding numbers where there were none. But on the bright side, she only ran into problems with the last page of the exam, which traditionally required some out-of-the-box thinking and extrapolation from current problems.

 

Rather than doing them, she had taken some time to go through the earlier questions and clean up at least a few transposed numbers. It was a strategy Numair had suggested – the reality was, she would get more points going back and checking the things she _did_ know rather than trying things she hadn’t done before. He was right about that, and the time she saved from aggravating uselessly over the famous last page definitely increased her scores.

 

With that said, she still had fifteen minutes to tackle the last page of problems, which was more than enough to get some blind guesses out. She might get lucky – Numair always told her to trust her instincts.

 

The first one started similarly to some of the questions she did know how to answer, so she started with that strategy, only to run into problems midway through the solution. She paused, rearranging her equations some, but quickly gave it up as hopeless and moved on. Ten minutes left.

 

The next two questions were theoretical and required a written answer. She liked these ones, even if she never got the right answer on them, because there was always the possibility of part marks. She thought about each, outlined her thinking next to neat bullet points, and entered conclusion on the last problem just as time was called.

 

Not terrible, she thought, passing her paper to the proctor and collecting her pencils and her calculator. And there was only Art History left, and that was going to be a nightmare anyway, so why stress? She had the night off, and she planned to celebrate with a long, well-earned, night’s sleep.

 

XXX

 

_Nope, nope, nope, annnnd… nope_. There went that theory. Aly sighed and rubbed her eyed tiredly. Josiane’s life, or at least the life encapsulated by her computer, was positively _boring_. There were essays that the girl honestly spent far too long writing, especially since Aly was pretty sure she could _vomit_ a better essay, and there were fashion blogs and celebrity gossip sites and positively _inane_ emails from her friends at home asking when she would be back in Corus for winter break.

 

The Rittevon Industries website, too, was proving to be a tougher nut to crack than she had thought, though why she was surprised at that she didn’t know. Clearly she had been misled by Josiane’s sheer dullness. Rittevon did military contracts, of course their security would be tighter than every other website she had hacked. She was good, better than average, but if she could break it, so could international spies. And the Tortallan Parliament wouldn’t have trusted their national defence to a company that was so slipshod, would they?

 

Well, she wasn’t so sure of the latter part, but the fact remained that the website was beyond the realm of her hacking ability. Damn. Time for a new approach – it wasn’t efficient, but she’d do this the old fashioned way.

 

She pulled up the seniors’ exam schedule – the one key thing about exam season, the thing she _loved_ , is the sheer amount of free time she had. They had exams, but aside from those, it was a blank slate, and surely no one _needed_ all that time to study. The second best thing was how _predictable_ it made everyone else’s schedules. There were exams, the schedules were posted, and as long as she knew what classes someone was taking, she knew when their rooms were empty. And considering that student schedules were available on the internal server, it was the work of minutes to pull up Josiane’s schedule.

 

English, Maths, those were all done. French, that was done too. Dramatic Arts, unfortunately that was done. French literature, though, that was next Monday, set for a three hour exam… that was good. It guaranteed about an hour, probably more like an hour and a half, but an hour for sure.

 

She would have to go into town on the weekend for supplies – it was a good thing she overcharged De Conte to begin with, because now she had money for that camera she needed.

 

XXX

 

The shopping centre was just so _busy_ before the holidays. Alanna grimaced, weaving between pockets of students, all merrily chatting and most already laden with bags, following the twin bobbing heads in front of her. Somehow, the Smythesson twins could always carve a path through a crowd – which was why she was following them.

 

That, and they’d agreed to go dress-shopping with her. She couldn’t _believe_ that George had been serious about finding a suit, but since he was putting in the effort, she may as well too. It wasn’t serious or anything, just… a new experience. She’d gone to the last two Midwinter Balls as Jon’s girl, as a likely candidate for Midwinter Queen, and there were expectations – of the nobility type. And her first year, she had just gone with Thom, which was a bad idea all around because he was a wet blanket if there was one.

 

This year, _this year_ was about fun. And _fun_ meant wearing a dress she wanted, and not what others expected her to wear.

 

“How about this one?” Rose paused, pointing at Mango. “I like Mango.”

 

“Ugh,” Alanna caught up, wrinkling her nose. “No. Unless you or Elenna want to stop in?”

 

Rose sighed, shaking her head, and looked at the shop longingly. “I shouldn’t – I have a perfectly good dress already. ‘lenna?”

 

“Hmm…” the other girl considered. “I’d like a new dress for the Ball, something Xander hasn’t seen before, but I don’t really _need_ to get one…”

 

Rose rolled her eyes, a sentiment that Alanna was thoroughly in agreement with. Xander Amelian and Elenna Smythesson had been together since the end of second year, and more than six months later, apparently they still hadn’t gotten over their honeymooning. The way Rose had put it, the cooing Skype calls all summer had been a never-ending nightmare. Alanna would never have thought it; whenever she had visited that summer, Elenna had barely mentioned it. Then again, what with the whole Jon thing, she supposed it was tactful. She appreciated it, anyway – the Smythessons had always been so _decent_. Even Daran, when he wasn’t being a pain-in-the-ass faux-big-brother.

 

“Has Xander even seen any dresses since your Midsummer Gala one last year? You could borrow one of mine,” Rose suggested. “I mean, I won’t stop you if you want to stop in, but Mango’s line this year was crap and you know it.”

 

Elenna sighed, dejected. “Ugh. You’re right about that. Everything’s so … _boxy_ this year.”

 

“I’m not really feeling the shopping centre,” Alanna admitted, looking around. There were so many people in the centre, she could barely breathe, and it was too warm. “A little too crowded, isn’t it? Let’s try some other shops, downtown, maybe?”

 

“It’s been awhile since we’ve been to the Harbour,” Rose replied, nodding thoughtfully. “I haven’t looked into those shops in a long time. We can drive, and it would be less crowded. Probably some more unique pieces too.”

 

Elenna shrugged, noncommittal. “Sure. Let’s do it.”

 

The Harbour, or downtown core, was much emptier. There was only a light dusting of snow across the ground, but the winds off the water were cold, and it seemed like most people had opted to go elsewhere. Few shops were fully empty, however – it was quiet, but not too quiet, and all together a much better choice.

 

“Ohhh, we should stop in the Tuppered Tailor…” Elenna said, pointing. “Look at that _dress!_ What do you think of that one?”

 

“Hmm…” Alanna followed the girls into the shop, considering. It was black, layered – the bottom layer was velvet, the top in tulle or another similar-looking fabric. The shoulders were covered, but only with tulle. The bottom layer shone with discreet silver embroidery. “It looks like a funeral dress, but it looks like a funeral dress I would actually _wear_ , which is better than anything else we’ve seen.”

 

This shop had promise. It was warm, lit cheerfully with bright, kitschy lamps strewn sporadically throughout the room. There were knickknacks along one wall, with a table displaying accessories in every size, shape and colour. In terms of clothing, there was a wide selection of dresses, sorted by era rather than size or style.

 

Rose gravitated towards the accessories, apparently not needing a dress this year. She had a date, a cheerful fourth-year named Blake Taylor, but it was nothing serious as far as either Alanna could tell – Rose had never mentioned him before, anyway.  Elenna, on the other hand, wandered towards an aisle marked “1950s.”

 

Alanna turned from that aisle, slightly regretful – while Rose and Elenna both had the height and figure to carry off a swing dress, Alanna couldn’t imagine it would make her look like anything other than a child playing dress up. Fashion in that era leaned towards either curvy (which she was absolutely not), or childlike (which she didn’t want to be). Ah well – while she would like to be taller, a bigger chest would definitely make fencing harder.

 

The forties rack looked promising, but after flipping through all the dresses, found none she particularly liked and none in her size. Thirties was too feminine, all floor-length dresses which Alanna would no doubt trip over, but the twenties, now, the twenties…

 

The twenties were a good time. Dresses that were short, but not too short, shaped, but not meant to emphasize assets that she didn’t have. There was something about the frills, beads and sequins, too, which drew her eye – she was never what anyone would call feminine, but this was a nice compromise. She liked it. And in particular, she liked that dark green flapper dress.

 

She would need a slip, she could tell, the minute she drew it from the rack. It was sleeveless, with wide shoulder straps embroidered in black with glittering silver sequins. A fringe of beads hung across the chest, with a complimenting set completing the hem. And the best part, in her opinion, was the embroidered skirt, a mix of black and silver threads this time – a panel with a mirrored curlicue design, simple and yet elegant.

 

Honestly, if it didn’t come in her size, she would buy it anyway and have it tailored. It was _that_ nice.

 

“Found anything interesting?” Rose popped her head over Alanna’s shoulder. “Oh, that’s nice. You should go try that on.”

 

“I don’t think there’s a fitting room, though,” Alanna said slowly, checking the tag. Pricey, for something vintage, but that wasn’t a problem. The size was a bit smaller than what she would normally pick, but it did look like it would fit...

 

“No, there is – it’s that closet over there,” Elenna interrupted, pointing. She had a dress in her hands, in red satin or a similar shiny material. “It has a paper sign that says ‘Fitting Room’ on it.”

 

“Really? A _closet_?” Rose grimaced, spotting the sign. “Did you go in?”

 

Elenna shrugged. “I did – I can’t exactly buy this without trying it on, it’s too fitted. It’s clean. Enough, anyway. Rose, what do you think? I want Xander’s jaw to drop. Literally.”

 

Rose looked over the dress critically, flipping over the price tag, while Alanna approached the closet with trepidation. “Does it fit? If it does, then yes – otherwise, it would definitely be too much work to alter to fit. And Xander will be floored no matter what, so you may as well.”

 

“Done,” Elenna replied. “Alanna?”

 

She didn’t particularly like the looks of the closet slash fitting room – it was dark, even with a lamp inside, and there were spider-webs in the corners. The floor was cold tile, and the mirror was propped at an angle against the wall. It wasn’t like she was a spoiled rich princess, or at least she tried not to be, but… it was gross.

 

“I… think I’ll just buy it. It looks like it’ll fit.”

 

The twins exchanged a glance, Elenna stifling a giggle.

 

“You should _never_ buy something without trying it on,” Rose started, but Alanna shook her head. “What if it doesn’t fit? Then what will you wear to the Ball?”

 

“I’ll work something out.”

 

Elenna looked at her, eyebrow raised, even as she hid a smile. “Alanna, I’ve _seen_ your closet. I don’t think you even _own_ any other dresses. The fitting closet isn’t _that_ bad. Just get in, get out.”

 

Alanna shook her head firmly, making her way to the register. “If it doesn’t fit, I’ll just… order something off the internet or something. Hell, I’ll ask Thom to pick something. And George and I will laugh over whatever disaster he picked out.”

 

The twins exchanged another look, but seemingly gave up – a good thing, because Alanna was buying this dress, one way or another, and she didn’t need to go into a spider-infested closet to decide that.

 

XXX

 

Aly was waiting nonchalantly in the entrance hall to the Cloisters, with an open notebook in front of her, a pen in her hand. The idea was that she looked like a first-year waiting for a friend, trying to get some last minute studying done. In reality, there was no such thing, but… people tended to see what they expected to see, so Aly creased her forehead, blew out an exasperated breath or two while staring at her notebook, and cast eager glances towards the stairwell.

 

The last wasn’t even a farce. She was, in fact, quite eager for Josiane to leave her room and go to her exam. It was early yet, so Aly used the time to discreetly look over her classmates. She could easily tell which students were nervous, which were confident, which ones were simply resigned or too tired to even think about exam material yet. It was interesting – people-watching had always been interesting, and certainly helpful when it came to her new line of business.

 

She had only waited five minutes or so when she saw Josiane come down the stairs and head out the front doors, a pile of study notes under one arm and a purse over her other shoulder. She was early, then – must be one of those who camped out in front of the exam room revising because nerves wouldn’t let them sit still. Interesting.

 

Aly wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, though, so she quickly rummaged through her messenger bag, swore, and dashed up the stairs, to the world as though she were a panicked first-year who forgot something important.

 

It took only a few minutes to make it to Josiane’s floor, mercifully empty, and the work of seconds the break into her room for the second time. Really, with the locks in this school, she would be worried about her business if she hadn’t reinforced her own locks rather significantly.

 

Aly pulled out the tiny camera she had bought on the weekend, pulling out Josiane’s fuzzy pink chair and positioning it carefully on the top of the bookshelf. The camera wasn’t one _marketed_ towards spy purposes, though it was certainly effective for spying, and her favourite feature was the fact that she could set it up for Bluetooth. She set up the signal, named it “Livy’s New Tablet” in honour of the second-year living below, not that Josiane would likely know that or check, and set up a nonsensical alphanumeric password that would take longer to break than Aly needed. The camera itself would likely fizzle out in a matter of days, maybe four if Aly was lucky, and more likely two – but with any luck, she would get footage of the password within that time.

 

She tucked the camera under the paw of one of Josiane’s stuffed bears, lining the top shelf, satisfied that the camera itself was effectively concealed from a cursory glance. She didn’t need to do more – Josiane didn’t _expect_ any spying activities, so she wouldn’t see it for some time. And in any case, Aly had long since realized that people rarely looked _up_. She liked the camera, too, so Aly would probably break back in to get it back after this was over.

 

She pulled out her laptop from the messenger bag, checked the feed to make sure she had a clear view of the monitor and the keyboard, and slipped out of Josiane’s room by way of the window. Josiane might have a third-floor room, but there was a convenient tree outside, close enough for Aly to cautiously close (though not lock) the windows, and wait for the crowds on the grounds to disperse.

 

Then, it was just a waiting game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay (as always!). I started a new job in June, so things have been pretty hectic. I think the Holiday arc is going to take a little longer than expected (one more chapter! ... or two), mostly because I decided that Josiane needed to be more complex than your standard mean girl. Poor girl's got problems.


	14. Holiday Fuss, Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aly, Kel and Daine finally make it to the Ball.

Chapter 12: Holiday Fuss, Part Three

 

Pulling the data off the camera was a piece of cake. There were probably easier ways, Aly admitted, than balancing a laptop in a tree, but she didn’t need to be seen skulking outside Josiane’s room too much. And given that it would take some minutes to download the video and wipe the camera remotely, she really didn’t need to be seen on an upperclassman floor. Not that hanging out in a tree in the middle of winter was really that great either, which was why she was doing this at five in the morning when even the jocks were sleeping, not at a _sane_ time.

 

She blew on her fingers, poking out through her handwarmers, and pulled her coat closer around her, swearing lightly. It was colder here than in Corus, and she still felt the chill through her light down jacket. It had snowed last night, a light layer of only a couple centimetres, but enough to soak through her pants. At least her laptop wouldn’t be overheating, she supposed, though her monitor was dark and sluggish.

 

She looked out across the campus. The buildings were a nice mix of ancient and modern. The Cloisters were the oldest part of campus, with parts of the building dating back almost five hundred years, to the chapel that used to sit in the same location. To the right was Redpath Hall, the newer residence, but its architect had clearly aimed to make it fit on an old campus. Redpath Hall was all red stone, the kind with the sort of handholds and grips that Aly itched to try to climb.

 

To her left was the academic building, a hulking building set across sprawling grounds. It was an absurdly large building, especially considering the school only had something like six hundred students, but she supposed that the small class sizes and sheer variety of classes warranted it. The gym, too, was set across the grounds, away from both the residences and the academic building. Students usually just called it the gym, which Aly privately thought was grossly inadequate. It was actually a whole athletic complex, with a large gym (used by the dance groups and the archery team), and a split level with two small martial arts rooms (one with tatami mats for the martial artists and one with sprung hardwood floors for the kendo and naginata team), under a state of the art fencing salle. Attached were locker rooms, showers, a sauna, weight room, a small track… yes, whatever one could say, Crown was very much an athlete’s school.

 

All told, she wasn’t unhappy to be here. It certainly was more interesting than school in Corus would have been.

 

She glanced down at her laptop, and grinned. With the download completed, it was the work of seconds for her to wipe the camera’s internal memory. She would retrieve the actual item later, but it was useless to anyone who found it now.

 

In her room, she plugged in her laptop and took a moment to make herself a coffee. Kettles were technically contraband, but given some of the other contraband that other students had, Aly wasn’t worried. And anyway, who heard of an office without coffee? She had hours of skimming through useless video footage to look forward to, so she may as well get comfortable.

 

The first couple hours were useless, but she had expected that, fast-forwarding until Josiane got home from her exam. It didn’t look like she had spent much time in her room, though – she just changed into nicer clothes, grabbed an Italian textbook, and headed out the door. There were another four or five hours of empty footage, followed by Josiane returning home, dropping her books off, and heading out again. Dinner, Aly supposed. When did this girl check her email? Aly could barely go six hours without flipping on her computer. All she needed was for Josiane to log onto her computer and log into a particular website.

 

It was three hours and a second coffee after that Aly finally hit jackpot. She stopped the fast-forward, then rewound the video to the point where Josiane logged onto her computer. She watched as Josiane checked her school email, then three, four, fashion blogs, the Hotmail account that Aly had broken into a week before and really had nothing except occasional friendly emails from old friends and coupons for her favourite store, and then, finally, finally…

 

Josiane let out a large, dramatic sigh, and clicked onto the Rittevon Industries webpage.

 

Aly hit a few keys on her keyboard, slowing it down to catch the blond girl’s fingers as she typed. She didn’t type properly, with her hands on the appropriate keys at all times, but neither was she a one-finger typer. Aly grabbed a notepad and started scribbling.

 

Username: that was an email address, josie@rittevon.tl.

 

Password: That was an O – P – H – E – L – I – A – underscore. Five, four, one. Ophelia_541.

 

She had it, but held by some kind of curiosity, she let the video keep playing a little longer. Whatever Josiane found in her Rittevon Industries account, it wasn’t good. On screen, the blonde senior read something, sighed, and dropped her head onto her hands.

 

Aly whipped through a couple virtual private networks, pulled up the Rittevon Industries page, logged in using Josiane’s credentials and found herself in an inbox filled by emails from the famously unstable Oron Rittevon. Hundreds of emails, but a quick glance told her that all she needed was the last six months – six months of orders for Josiane to pump information from Jon about the Conte Group, six months of increasingly insane orders for the kind of information that Aly soon realized that Jon probably didn’t even have, and in the last two or three months, threats.

 

Well, that certainly threw a wrench in things, didn’t it?

 

XXX

 

It took another three days of snooping for Aly to come up with a plan. That was a part of her job – professional problem solving, at its best.  It would have only taken a couple days, but it happened she had to write a couple exams, so … three days it was. It wasn’t interesting snooping, in any case; the hardest thing she had had to hack was a bank, and she had managed to crack bank security while still in primary school.

 

The key, useful facts?

 

First, Josiane _really_ liked theatre. She liked theatre more than Rittevon Industries, and she had had almost no involvement with the family business other than necessary. She had applied for a number of prestigious theatre programs, mainly in America and a few in Italy and England, and based on her application and video auditions, Aly thought she had a fighting chance of getting in.

 

Second, Josiane had a trust fund. Somehow, that was more surprising than it should have been – even though it seemed like most of her classmates were wealthy, it seemed like they received allowances rather than interest from a fund. Then again, it’s not as though Aly made a habit of breaking into banks to find out what financial resources her potential clients had. Maybe they all had trust funds that just hadn’t kicked into effect yet. Josiane’s trust fund would kick in on her first day of university. Convenient, that.

 

Third, Oron’s insanity had been understated by the press. He was usually described as “unstable”, but “volatile” would be a little more accurate. On one hand, Oron would absolutely stab, shoot, or strangle his family members; on the other, he was so volatile that every day control of Rittevon Industries had quietly passed to his eldest daughter, Imajane. Although she was young, profiles suggested that Imajane was a micromanager par excellence, and that practically no decisions were made at the company without crossing her desk. Oddly, very few other members of the Rittevon family even sat on the Board, and Aly had dug up a few old interviews from family members suggesting that they had been driven off the company.

 

Aly liked that. It made Imajane _predictable_ , and _predictable_ was good.

 

She considered, briefly, confronting Josiane herself and offering to solve the girl’s problems. On one hand, then she could feasibly charge her a fee for getting her out of it, and since solving Jon’s problems would necessarily also involve solving Josiane’s problems (unless Jon was heartless enough to simply dump her, come what may, which Aly found improbable), and it would be nice to be paid. On the other, the chances that Josiane would end up talking to Jon, that they would take issue with Aly double-charging, as it were, and that she wouldn’t get paid at all… well, the main problem with running a shady business was that you couldn’t exactly resort to legal methods for enforcing your fees, so she would rather not take the risk.

 

She paused, thinking. She was acting like there were only two options, and there were rarely ever only two options.

 

Jon was rich enough. She ran the numbers for what she would have charged Josiane for solving her problems and threw an extra hundred euros on his final bill. He could afford to pay Josiane’s fees. She grabbed her mobile and sent him a text.

 

_Have something interesting. Too sensitive for text. When are you free?_

 

XXX

 

Since Jon was, famously, the sole heir and pampered prince of the Conte Group, Aly had expected something … more from his dorm room. Josiane had certainly imprinted her personality through her room, Aly had turned hers into a business, and Jon? He had put up a few posters and things – a pennant in support of the fencing team, at artistic rendering of the old Palace in Corus, that sort of thing. There was a small armchair that didn’t appear school-issue (it looked Ikea-issue, if anything), but otherwise?

 

A royal blue coverlet lay over the twin bed, lined against one wall, with matching, lighter blue pillows, on top. Aly would have bet that his sheets matched too. His desk was clean, with his work neatly stacked, and his textbooks lined the tall bookshelf along one wall. Aside from the textbooks, his books ranged between history and economics.

 

Aly had no idea what Alanna must have seen in him. Frankly, other than the heir-to-the-Conte-Group thing, the boy – man, now – was positively _dull_.

 

“Sit,” Jon said, gesturing to his armchair. “Your text said you had found something?”

 

Aly ignored his hand and plopped down on the bed beside him, pulling her laptop from her messenger bag as she did so. “You’ll want to see this,“ she said bluntly, pulling up the files she had downloaded from the Rittevon site. Even going through a few VPN servers, she didn’t want to chance breaking onto the site again – they shouldn’t have been able to trace her entry and exit, but then … well, given it was Rittevon Industries, it was more likely to result in her being dead than anything else if they did.

 

“It’s rather complicated; would you like a summary?”

 

Jon looked at her, then down at the laptop she was offering to him. He sighed. “I can see this will take some time. Give me the summary while I skim these files.”

 

“Summary: Josiane Rittevon was ordered by her father, Oron Rittevon, to enter into a relationship with you in an act of corporate espionage. Oron Rittevon was hoping that she would be able to pry company secrets out of you –“

 

“I’m _eighteen_ ,” Jon spluttered, evidently listening although his eyes were skimming down the emails, back and forth, quickly. “I might be the heir to the Conte Group, but I have nothing to do with the business _right now_.”

 

“Oron Rittevon relies heavily on his children in running the business,” Aly replied brusquely. “Most daily business decisions are either made by, or at least heavily influenced by, Imajane Rittevon. In any case, I wouldn’t rush to blame Josiane – it’s clear from the rest of the emails that she didn’t have much choice. Oron is notoriously unstable, even by the media’s standards, and based on the emails coming through, I’d go as far as saying that’s an understatement.”

 

She leaned back, stretching, and waited for him to finish reading.

 

“Well,” he murmured finally. “I don’t want to hurt her more than I have to. If breaking up with her means that Oron will,” he cleared his throat and read off screen, “garrotte her with barbed wire and watch while she bleeds out, then draw and quarter her remains to be fed to his ferrets … I’m not so sure that I want to.”

 

Aly snorted. As if the sole remaining option to saving Josiane’s life rested on Jon continuing to date her. What an idiot. “Don’t be ridiculous – this complicates things, but you should still dump her if that’s what you want to do. In fact, I think she’d even like the result.

 

“The key fact to glean from all of this is that Josiane herself is not personally invested in spying on you – if anything, based on what I’ve seen in her room, she wants to study theatre and has no real interest in the family business. Given a way out, she’ll probably take it. The other advantage you have is that she’s been put under a lot of pressure, is being threatened, and you have the money and power to do something about it to solve both of your problems.

 

“So here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to invite her home to your place over the holidays. It’ll look good for Oron, and he won’t want to see her if she’s with you. Call your lawyer and break it off with her quietly over the holidays. She won’t announce it over the holidays, she’s too smart for that, and you’ll want to be in Corus with your lawyers fixing the rest of the arrangements.

 

“The break up will go public after you come back to school, at the same time that Conte Group and whatever subsidiaries and affiliates you can convince break off their contracts with Rittevon Industries for corporate espionage. There is a risk from Oron and the rest of her family, but Josiane won’t really be at any risk because she’ll be at school. The loss of the Conte Group contracts, along with whatever subsidiaries or affiliates you can get, means that Rittevon will be hemorrhaging money, and will be scrambling to get funds together for legal fees for the inevitable lawsuits for corporate espionage. Since Imajane controls the everyday finances at Rittevon, she’s highly unlikely to pay anything for vengeance because she’ll busy doing damage control – and based on the business profiles for her, she’s more likely to be angry at Oron, not Josiane. She wants control of Rittevon Industries as a whole, and the way she’ll see it, Josiane won’t be competing for that with her. And since she controls the purse strings, Oron won’t have the personal funds for a hitman either, and it will snow in June before he shows up in person in Blue Harbour.

 

“Tuition, room and board is paid for the year, but Josiane will need funds to leave the country right away afterwards and for basic expenses. She is applying mainly to international schools, and she has a trust fund from her grandparents that will kick in to cover her expenses from that point on, so there’s no worry there. If you give her that out, I suspect she’ll sign whatever documents you need, and hand over whatever documents from her account, too.”

 

Jon blinked, once, twice, and passed her back her laptop. “That’s… complicated. Are you sure it will work?”

 

“If it doesn’t,” Aly smirked, “I’ll give you a full refund. Just send these emails – I took the liberty of loading them onto your computer for you in a zip file – to your lawyers at Conte Group.”

 

“Well,” Jon replied, uncertain. “Thanks?”

 

“That’s what I get paid for,” Aly said, standing up and tucking her laptop back into her messenger bag. “And, once everything works out, here’s your final bill. Don’t worry, I deducted the advance.”

 

She handed him an envelope, turned on her heels, and walked out. Another three hundred euros were already jingling in her mind.

 

XXX

 

Kel brushed her hair for the umpteenth time that night – every time she turned away, she swore that it went out of place. She, Linn and Margarry had gone shopping last weekend, where it looked as though every Crown Academy student had turned out in search for the perfect dress or suit. Despite Margarry’s pickiness, and Linn’s incessant whining after two hours regarding the same, eventually they did each have a dress that suited the occasion. Kel’s was a deep burgundy A-line that the others swore emphasized her curves. Margarry had also talked her into getting a pair of strappy black T-strap heels, which weren’t really very high, but made Kel feel self-conscious nonetheless. She felt like she was tottering around on her toes.

 

Rounding out her ensemble were an artsy, chunky bead necklace in red and a matching bracelet. They had, again, been Margarry’s choices.

 

There was a knock at the door, then another one – impatient, whoever it was, which meant it was either Owen or Neal in a panic. She gave up on her hair, resolving not to look in the mirror again, and went to open her door.

 

“Reporting for inspection, sir!” Owen said, snapping a mock salute. Kel raised her eyebrows, looking into the hallway – Neal stood behind him, as did Merric, Seaver, Prosper, and her two remaining girls from naginata, Fianola and Sorcha, though the latter two were giggling and seemed to just be tagging along for a lark.

 

“Why me?” she asked, amused. “You realize that Margarry told me last week, and I am quoting, ‘You are utterly hopeless, now let me dress you?’”

 

Neal shrugged, somewhat embarrassed. “Margarry said she was busy, Alinna hadn’t even started dressing yet, and Maura rolled her eyes at us and shut her door.”

 

“And you two?” Kel raised an eyebrow at Fianola and Sorcha.

 

Sorcha grinned cheekily. “We ran into them on their way to your room and tagged along to help you, of course. You can’t possibly inspect this lot and make it to the pre-drink in time.”

 

Kel sighed. The pre-drink – apparently, kendo never celebrated anything without a drink. They drank before the tournament, they drank after the tournament, they drank before the Halloween Hop, they drank for birthdays… according to Dom, alongside the most improved player and most valuable player awards at the end of the year was an award for “the fish”, the one who could drink the most. He had, however, been somewhat inebriated when he mentioned it, so perhaps he was joking. Kel rarely took more than one, and none at all when she attended as part of the naginata team rather than a member of the kendo team.

 

She opened her doors wide and waved the crowd in, grabbing her comb once again. While Sorcha and Fianola worked on Prosper and Merric, she forced Neal to sit in a chair and went about fixing his hair. He had put some sort of product in it, that much was certain, but evidently too much, and she used the comb to pull out the excess.

 

“Kendo’s certainly happy to have the naginata team back,” Neal commented quietly, eyeing the way that Fianola, rolling her eyes, showed Merric how to tie a proper tie and Sorcha fixed Prosper’s collar.

 

“They are friendly, I suppose, since we are a fellow budo team,” Kel replied.

 

“There’s that,” Neal agreed nonchalantly, “but they’re also happy because it gives them a bigger pool of people whom it would be socially acceptable to date, too.”

 

Kel leaned back, examining her work, then shook her head and went back at it. She wasn’t much of a stylist, but she was pretty sure the birds’ nest look was not what Neal wanted. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

 

“Just that, before, members of the kendo team didn’t have many girls that it was socially acceptable for them to date. Fencers date mainly other fencers, archers or non-athletes, and archers the same. But it would be harder for someone in kendo to date someone in archery – different social status, different circles and all. Mainly, kendo players dated each other or no one at all – having naginata, since you have the same approximate social status, opens up their options a lot. There are some other factors that come in too, like wealth and family status, too, but since most of the kendo crowd are typical in terms of wealth and from immigrant families, that doesn’t help.”

 

“I’m not sure I understand, but that is rather preposterous,” Kel replied, a hint of derision in her tone. “I don’t see why people can’t just date whoever they want.”

 

“You can,” Neal replied diplomatically, “but it’s more that people talk about it. That matters for some people. So, looking forward to your date?”

 

Kel set her comb down, looking at her work critically. It gave her an excuse to think about her answer, anyway – to be fully honest, she didn’t know what to think of her date. She liked Cleon, sure – he was good-looking, friendly, and in practice he was cheerful and brought out the best in others. She was certainly flattered that he had asked her to the Ball, and she wasn’t opposed to going to the Ball with him, but if she were to be fully honest with herself, she also wasn’t excited by the prospect of it.

 

“Yes, I suppose so,” she replied instead. “What do you think of that?”

 

Neal looked in the mirror, considering. All Kel had done was comb out the extraneous gel he had used, so it was a simple enough matter for him to tweak his hair into the right combination. “Thanks, Kel.”

 

XXX

 

Daine didn’t even want to go to the Ball.

 

It was just going to be such a waste of time. First, there were the hours she had had to put into getting dressed and putting on make-up and taming her hair. She had a dress, fortunately – another one of Miri’s. Miri, one of Daine’s first friends at Crown, had been horrified by Daine’s lack of clothing and had promptly written home and had a selection of her dresses at home delivered to school. She had tried to give them outright to Daine, but Daine had refused, so instead there were simply a number of dresses in Daine’s closet on long-term loan. Miri insisted the dresses were nothing special, and compared to some of the dresses the other girls got for the Balls, she was even right, but still…

 

In any case, wearing one of Miri’s sky-blue tea-dresses, Daine felt like she had to go through the terrible rigmarole of makeup and hair. She had managed, with much effort, to slick her unruly curls into something like a knot at the back of her neck, and had put on light eyeliner and lip gloss. Good enough, she figured, and even that was a good couple hours wasted.

 

Then there were the hours she would spend actually at the Ball, standing at the edge of the party and listening to terrible music being played far too loudly – certainly too loudly for her to be able to have a reasonable conversation with anyone. And while her friends would be there, most of them had dates, and would be focused on those. Those that didn’t would just … _mingle_.

 

Daine hated mingling.

 

The problem was that she couldn’t really find a reason not to attend. What would she say? I hate Balls? She had tried that one, first year, without luck – Miri had pouted, and had roped Evin into making her go, and then she had tried the excuse of not having anything to wear, which just resulted in the long-term loan of clothing, and then she had tried excusing herself on the basis of her extra-credit assignments to pull her grades up, but Miri had protested that it was just one night and she would have a whole month to complete her assignments after that, and while she could try excusing herself on the grounds of not having a date, the truth (as Miri was well aware), was that Daine turned down multiple dates every Ball. If it was just a matter of a date, Daine had a selection of them.

 

The problem was, it wasn’t just a matter of a date, and Daine couldn’t see herself dating anyone who had ever come to ask her, anyway.

 

So – Daine hated Balls, and she still somehow ended at every single one.

 

She surveyed the room. It was early, but people were beginning to fill the room already. She spotted Miri and Evin, who had already claimed a spot for themselves on the dance floor. She knew from previous experience they would be there for awhile, though they would come and chat every now and then. Most of the other archers, too, would stop by and talk to their captain, as would others, but…

 

She would still rather be in her sweatpants in her dorm room.

 

“Brooding already?” Numair murmured, appearing from the shadows beside her.

 

“I hate Balls,” Daine replied, taking a sip of the punch.

 

He laughed dryly. “You’re only in high school once,” he said, motioning his head towards the crowd on the dance floor. “You should enjoy yourself more, especially on a night like tonight.”

 

“I don’t want to,” Daine replied bluntly. She didn’t even want to go to the Ball with anyone on that floor – letting any one of them actually touch her? Particularly as the night wore on, monitors got tired, and people started getting all over each other? Eugh.

 

“Well, you should,” Numair replied, letting his voice drift off as he eyed the crowd. He coughed slightly, and tilted his head in the direction of a group of students who were not-so-subtly sliding over to the punch bowl and giggling. “I should get back to my duties.”

 

Daine nodded noncommittally. What else was she supposed to say to that?

 

Instead, she looked back out over the dance floor, smirking slightly when she caught Flynn Whiteford and … was that Mackenzie Seabeth? Good god, it was not late enough for that amount of tongue involved. She felt embarrassed just watching them.

 

She heard a slight cough, and turned slightly to see a tall, green-eyed boy beside her. His hair was probably a lighter brown than it was presently – it seemed like there are been much gel mussed into it at some point. He had the lean body that Daine had since associated with fencers. She knew a lot of the fencers, mainly the ones close to Alanna, but she didn’t recognize this one. Still, she was not surprised that he recognized her – almost everyone did, since she was the archery captain.

 

“Um, Daine,” the youth started, blushing.

 

“Who are you?” she asked bluntly. So it was a little rude, but she was at a Ball, and she was in no mood to humour an underclassman’s sorry little crush.

 

Oddly, that seemed to settle the boy, and he grinned. “Neal Quinn-Cohen, at your service,” he said, sweeping a ridiculous-looking bow. “Pleasure to formally make your acquaintance.”

 

She rolled her eyes, holding out her hand reluctantly. “Daine Sarrasdottir.”

 

Rather than shaking it, he leaned over it like a medieval player, planting a kiss on it.

 

Oh, he didn’t.

 

She knew, intellectually, that it was really rather charming, and that he couldn’t have known that Daine didn’t like to be touched. She didn’t have any particular reason for not liking to be touched, she didn’t think, but she really, really didn’t like being touched. Especially by people she didn’t know. There were some exceptions, like Miri and Evin and, of course, Numair, but exceptions came with time and really, she hated being touched. Sure, there were casual touches that she didn’t mind so much, like in class when someone tapped her on the shoulder or something but a kiss, even on her hand? She was not okay with that.

 

“Would you care to dance?” he asked, oblivious.

 

“Not in a million years,” she replied, turning away and staunchly ignoring the hurt expression on his face. “Have a good evening.”

 

It was time to seek out a new stretch of wall to haunt.

 

XXX

 

Aly stood to one side of the Ballroom, watching the dance floor with interest. Dances were always so _entertaining_. So far, she had made note of approximately thirty potential alliances made, six almost-scandals, and a lot of embarrassment to go around. She took particular note of the raucous festivities surrounding Alanna Trebond and George Cooper – easily one of the more interesting couples on the floor, and if that was a sign of things to come, then it was good to know. 

 

The kendo team had, as usual, been partaking a little much – that Dom Masbolle had attempted a caterwauling courtier song at one of the archers, who was looking more uncomfortable by the second, and eventually slunk off into a group of fencers. His off-beat cousin, Neal, had apparently been shot down by the archery captain, and while she would have expected him to be more dramatic in his disappointment, he seemed to be enjoying a group dance with some of the first and second years Aly recognized as being part of the naginata team. The dance team had taken a fairly large chunk of the floor for an impromptu skills competition, which was being loudly cheered on by a number of other students, athletes and non-athletes alike. The band, one of the several bands at school that had earlier battled out the honour of playing the Winter Ball, was humouring them with a serious of fast beat-heavy songs designed to help the dancers show off.

 

“Enjoying yourself?”

 

Aly kept the wrinkle of distaste from her face. Zahir ibn Alhaz – a second-year fencer, on the epee team, had somehow taken offence to her very existence. Something about her business model, she thought, but he was also friendly with Joren Montague, she thought, which was really quite odd given that their parents were, politically speaking, at odds. While Joren’s father was the head of the extreme Tortallan nationalist party, Zahir’s father was a prominent member of Party Bazhir, a party devoted to advancing the rights and position of the southern ethnic minority.

 

“I am, ibn Alhaz,” she replied coolly. “What do you want?”

 

“For you to shut down your ridiculous shop and keep your nose out of your social betters’ business, mostly,” he grinned, a flash of white against his dark skin. “But right now, I just want to talk.”

 

“So, talk.”

 

“Joren has it out for you – he wants assurance that Ainsley isn’t going to go to the media to wreck his reputation.”

 

Aly snorted. “Joren has a high opinion of himself. What reputation?”

 

Zahir shrugged, a fluid movement. “A scandal would hurt his family’s political interests.”

 

Aly rolled her eyes. “The Heritage Party is already famous for being racist, sexist, and any number of things. Tell him that it’s not worth Ainsley’s while to go to the media. Is that everything?”

 

“No, unfortunately,” Zahir replied, looking down at her. “I’m also here to warn you. Be careful – especially tonight.”

 

And with that cryptic remark, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

 

_Oh, fuck_. Aly looked around – it was unlikely that anything would happen _here_ , because there were simply too many people, and the monitors were watching the punch bowl carefully. There wouldn’t be anything here. But if not here, then what about her room – she had tightened up security in her room, sure, but there was only so much she could do without the staff noticing, and it was good, but not impenetrable. And the cost of her computer equipment, as well as the information on her hard drive… well, that was worth an early night to secure.

 

She set her glass of punch down firmly on the closest table, grabbed her shawl, and headed out across the dark campus.

 

In retrospect, she really should have wondered if Zahir’s warning, in and of itself, was a trap.

 

XXX

 

The date hadn’t gone that badly, Kel thought. She had met Cleon at the traditional budo pre-drink in the captain’s room, made all the more crowded by the presence of a few of the more eager first years. Hae was already well on her way to “inebriated”, though admitted it didn’t take  very much to bring the girl to that point. A few of the others, including Cleon, were looking decidedly flushed.

 

Kel had taken one drink, and nursed it cautiously until the teams had collectively decided that really, they ought to actually attend the Ball, and she had indeed taken Cleon’s hand on the way there. He was drunk, but not excessively so - certainly he wasn’t staggering or loud, though Kel thought he was probably more uninhibited than usual.

 

“You look beautiful, Kel, you know?” he said at one point, when they were crossing the school grounds, slightly ahead of the raucous group of kendo and naginata team members going stag. Most of the other couples, including Midori, who had gone with one of the other fourth-years, and Alice, had gone ahead long before. “That dress, it’s really... Um... Pretty.”

 

“Thank you, I think,” she had smiled up at him. Here was one advantage of going with Cleon Kennan - he was tall. And he was good-looking, in a crisp black suit and tie. She supposed that, with his fiery hair, he had worried about other colours clashing. “You look very nice as well.”

 

At the Ball, he had asked her to dance, and it turned out that neither of them were particularly good dancers. Though certainly Kel wasn’t particularly fussed about that, it turned out that he was more flustered about that than he should have been, and kept trying to pull her out onto the floor again and again to try and show her otherwise. Overall, it was really quite tiring.

 

Therefore, while it hadn’t been a bad date, per se... Kel wasn’t entirely sure she had actually enjoyed herself. Certainly she liked Cleon - in some ways, his flustered expression was really quite endearing, and he certainly seemed to like her, and she knew from studying with him that he was funny, and sweet, and interesting. But tonight?

 

She didn’t know what she was expecting, because it was a perfectly fine date. In fact, looking out on the dance floor, she spotted other couples doing similar things - dancing, badly or not, smiling, laughing, and a few more courageous couples were far more demonstrative with their affection than Kel would ever have dared. Even Neal, who hadn’t asked anyone to come with him, seemed to be having a good time with a number of girls on the dance floor.

 

Still, she couldn’t really say in good conscience that she had been thrilled with the evening, it having passed largely with her feeling ill at ease and rather lost in a sea of unfamiliar customs. So when Cleon offered to walk her back to her dorm early, she gratefully accepted. She took his offered hand and let him lead her across the dimly lit campus, in silence.

 

“Sorry, Kel,” he finally said, as they finally entered her dormitory and stepped into the inviting common room. The cold air seemed to have done him good, and he was certainly much more together than he had been the whole night. “I know you didn’t have a lot of fun there.”

 

“It isn’t your fault,” Kel replied, letting a small smile sneak out. Really, it wasn’t. He had given her a perfectly acceptable date, hadn’t he? There was a dance. He took her to it. He danced with her, they had talked. It was really a perfectly normal date. “I haven’t been to a dance before - we didn’t have them like this in Japan. So maybe I simply don’t like dances.”

 

“Still,” he replied. “I should have done more to make you feel comfortable. I am sorry, for that. Your room is...?”

 

“Second floor,” she reminded him. “But it’s fine if you leave me here - I can make it upstairs by myself.”

 

“Sure, if that’s what you want.” He paused, and turned to face her. She looked up at him curiously, noticing that his gray eyes were apologetic. He was still holding her hand - his hand was large, warm, and his thumb was tracing nervous circles on the back of hers. He hesitated, then leaned down and pressed warm lips against hers.

 

_Oh_ , was all she could think.

 

It was a gentle kiss, a careful kiss, warm and sweet, and Kel could taste the faint lingering alcohol on his breath. Yet somehow, that kiss was more than she had expected, especially after a night like tonight, and it was so considerate... It was nothing like the kisses she had seen on the dance floor that night, nothing so tawdry or as demonstrative. It was a slight kiss, like an open-ended question - it wasn’t a kiss that put pressure on her to reciprocate, a kiss that she wasn’t comfortable with, but a kiss that really... She liked.

 

“Have a good night, Kel,” he said. He was blushing fiercely, now. He turned to head to his own rooms, through a separate door than the girls’ rooms.

 

He was halfway across the common room when she called out to him.

 

“Cleon?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

She took a deep breath. “Would you like to come with me to Blue Harbour sometime after we are back from the holidays? We could go to the museum, or walk around the downtown, or...” She fidgeted.

 

He looked over his shoulder, a genuine smile lighting his face. “Yeah, I’d like that,” he replied.

 

Kel went to bed, thinking that really, that date had probably gone quite well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, long break in between. I had to figure out what I wanted to do with Aly in this, and Alanna isn't in here because, well... she has fun on the dance floor and that's about it.


	15. Chapter 13: Midwinter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Midwinter: Aly seeks revenge, Alanna deals with her family, Kel practices. And Daine gets ready for a non-date.

Chapter 13: Midwinter

 

Kel was looking forward to the holidays. Her bags were packed – more of them than most. She had one bag for clothing and other personal items, one bag for her bogu, and one, oversized, for her naginata. It was a bit awkward, walking it across campus to meet with Neal and Dom, but she managed. She thanked the _kami_ that she had invested in a backpack style bogu bag.

 

Cleon had dropped by that morning – he was taking the shuttle to the Blue Harbour airport for a flight home to southeastern Tortall – they had said their goodbyes with good cheer. He had presented her with a gift, wrapped in red. She had tried to wave it off, embarrassed, but he had insisted. She made a note to bring him something from Corus. Late was better than never, she supposed, but it was somewhat embarrassing.

 

Neal and Dom were giving her a ride with them back to Corus, and the boys were, surprisingly, already packing their bags into the boot when she arrived. Both eyed her naginata with uncertainty when she arrived.

 

“Kel, I don’t think that’ll fit,” Dom ventured. “It’s what, two metres long?”

 

“It will fit,” Kel replied brusquely. It was a common theme for naginata players – how did people think they got their equipment to tournaments? How did they think she got them to Crown, if not in a vehicle? She certain didn’t walk them there. “I’ll show you.”

 

She managed to fit her bogu bag in the cramped boot with Neal’s sabres and fencing gear, though with Dom’s bogu bag and one of the boys’ other bags, it was cramped. She had to pull out one of their bags to manage it, but that could go in the backseat with her and Dom’s shinai. Her other bag would have to go into the backseat with her as well, but there would be plenty of room.

 

“Would you kindly open the front passenger door?” she asked Neal, who was hovering uncertainly. She opened the opposite back door and, when he complied, she threaded her naginata through the car and adjusted it to slide the end into the end onto the passenger side floor, close to the central console, sliding the other end to rest neatly in the space between the two head cushions towards the rear windshield. It was even better than she was used to, really – the end of her naginata wouldn’t be sliding to knock her on the head. “See? Fits fine.”

 

“And I suppose you have a solution for how we’re supposed to hold our coffees, now?” Neal raised an eyebrow, eyeing unhappily the fact that Kel’s naginata were now blocking the cup holders in the central console.

 

“There’s one still clear, so dibs on that.” Dom grinned. “You can just _hold_ your coffee, Meathead.”

 

Neal sighed dramatically, folding himself into the front passenger seat with an air of one who had been severely inconvenienced. Kel shot a grateful smile to Dom before tucking herself into the rear passenger bench with their bags, and they were on their way.

 

XXX

 

In her head, Aly called herself about fourteen different kinds of idiot. She repeated them, silently, each time a deep breath made her chest hurt. It was a good thing she had joined the martial arts groups – it had served her in good stead and instead of suffering multiple broken bones, or worse, she was pretty sure only a couple ribs were cracked. She had kept any blows from connecting with her face, and the other injuries would hopefully be healed over the month-long break. Better yet, her struggle had also prevented the persons involved from engaging in any _further_ violations of her person, which she was sure they were considering. Overall, an excellent result for a semester’s worth of training, even if her ribs ached with every deep breath she took.

 

She did not intend on letting anyone know about the beating she had received on her way home. She was Aly Cooper, and Aly Cooper was not a tattletale. No, Aly Cooper fully intended on getting _even_ , in her own way.

 

She wasn’t _entirely_ sure who her attackers were – she recognized the voice of Vinson Genlith, the only one foolish enough to say anything while they delivered the damned beating, but there were at least two or three others. She would start with Genlith, then, and the rest… she would figure it out eventually.

 

Her laptop propped open on the miniscule tray that passed for a desk on the train, she opened a blank Word document and began taking notes. The Genliths were a wealthy, conservative merchant family with long-standing ties to the ancient nobility. Their primary source of income was from the gem trade - heavy investment in exploration, mining, and some speculation. There had been whispers of insider trading in the past, but nothing had ever been substantiated. She would start with that.

 

A small part of her wondered if she should really be attacking the family as a whole, but she ignored it after a particular sharp pang from her chest. She would do the research, then figure out what to do with it. But there would be payback.

 

XXX

 

Alanna sighed unhappily, sinking back into the plush leather of the Masbolle Duke. Thom was driving, at the moment; he was a monster on the road, a true monster, so she had arranged it that she would handle the busier parts of the drive. It was a long trek to the Trebond Estates – some six hours – and they would need to trade off. Still, it was better than the alternative. Before they both got their licenses and Thom had convinced father to buy them a car (not a difficult feat, for Thom could be entirely charming when he wished), they had had to wait for Father to send a chauffeur to pick them up.

 

It would not do, of course, for the Trebond heirs to take _public transportation_. Even though Alanna was fairly certain that the train, being connected to the internet, was considerably more comfortable, it was simply considered too plebeian.

 

George would be taking the train back to Corus now. She wished that she was with him still.

 

She had had, she thought, the best Midwinter Ball she had ever had. She hadn’t won Midwinter Queen, as she had the year before, nor was she the centre of attention. Instead, she had spent the night dancing with George, without the stuffy formal moves that she had been taught, that Jon normally used. It was entirely different from her Midwinter Ball the year before, when she and Jon had taken to the floor a few times but spent most of their time holding court with the other fencers and their other friends. This year, she and George were there for each other, and their friends surrounded them, joining them in their fun. And when Daran Smythesson and his best friend, Alacia Sweetspring, won the Midwinter crown, she pulled George along into the Smythesson circle-dance celebration.

 

She wasn’t sure that the literal crown had survived the night, but it had been entirely fun. And when George walked her back to the Cloisters at the end of the night, leaning down to give her a goodnight kiss, she had shaken her head and pulled him into her room with her. She had had a good night, she _liked_ George, and … perhaps it had been a long time in coming. He had been a little hesitant, which was entirely endearing, but had caved with good grace.

 

And that night… it was magical. She had no other words for it, and she wished she was there still, cocooned in her familiar sheets, his arm loosely tossed over her protectively. Her bed was small, she had practically slept on his broad chest and the whole night had been simply magical.

 

Her phone beeped while she was lost in her reverie. She glanced over to Thom, who, silently fuming, was tailgating the driver in front of him. The speedometer showed the reason why – the driver was only going ten kilometres an hour over the speed limit. But the road was empty, and Thom pulled out into the passing lane and sped ahead. He seemed to have it under control.

 

_At Blue Harbour train station. Train to Corus late. Miss you already. Xoxo._

She grinned, and tapped out a reply.

 

_Thom hasn’t killed us yet. Miss you too. Skype later?_

It was barely a minute later when her phone beeped again.

 

 _Definitely_.

 

“Good night, then?” Thom asked dryly, from the driver’s seat.

 

“None of your business, but yes,” Alanna replied, tucking her phone into her bag. Thom hadn’t been at the Ball, as far as she could recall – they had made an appearance together their first year, but beyond that, Thom had avoided the events as much as he could. Still, for a person who avoided these events like the plague, he had a sharp knowledge of what went on at school. He had always had good political reasoning, able to pick up the nuances of personal communication, and summers with their Father had only sharpened his ability – and his tongue.

 

There was silence for a moment, as Thom changed lanes again to avoid another slow-moving vehicle. The speedometer showed that he was still only going about twenty or twenty-five over, and Alanna made a note to stop him when it hit thirty over. Until then, however, she was content to try to get home faster.

 

“I’m glad,” he commented finally. “George is good for you. Better not let Father find out, though.”

 

“I don’t plan on it.”

 

XXX

 

 

Kel gave a great sigh of relief when she crossed the doors into the Japanese Tortallan Cultural Centre. There were few places that truly felt like home to her. What could she say? She was Tortallan-born, but she had grown up in Japan. She had barely spent a month in her parents’ home in Corus before going to Crown, and both places were so busy, she rarely felt at peace.

 

The entrance to the JTCC was a zen stone garden, and the stones were always neatly raked into the calming whorls, though they were currently powdered in snow. That always set the tone for her mood, and crossing into the Centre was more of the same. She heard as much Japanese as she did English, and, with a slight bow to the receptionist in greeting, she crossed over to the board listing holiday practice cancellations.

 

Karate was gone, and had been gone for several days already and wouldn’t return until the second week of January. Kenpo, too, was off for two weeks. Iaido had cancelled four practices over the holiday period, and kyudo cancelled three. She supposed the latter was as much the cold weather as anything else, though – even the JTCC, built to accommodate Corus’ most illustrious martial arts teams, did not have the space for a full kyudo range. Jodo didn’t have many weekly practices, but they, too, were gone for two weeks. In fact, it looked like everything was done for the season except for the naginata team and kendo teams.

 

She let a smile creep across her face, and wondered idly how many practice slots Sabine Macayhill had managed to steal out from under the other teams.

 

“You’re back!” A sharp poke in her ribs, and Kel turned to find herself facing a girl half a head shorter than herself, with light brown hair and green eyes that she would have recognized anywhere. Jessa Quinn-Cohen lacked the height of her brother, but had, as Kel discovered, inherited the family’s propensity for chatter.

 

“You should have known that,” Kel replied, returning the other girl’s hug half-heartedly. She supposed, since it was Neal’s sister, she was connected enough that it wasn’t entirely improper, which was not to say that she had had much of a connection with her previous. A few summer practices and a few waves behind Neal’s head during his Skype calls with her was the limit of her relationship with Neal’s sister. “Dom dropped Neal off not two days ago.”

 

“You were there, too, and you didn’t come in! You should have, Neal’s been talking about you non-stop since he came home. It was bad enough that that Dom didn’t come in, but we’ll see him at the Masbolle Midwinter celebration anyway, so I suppose I can beat him over the head with that then. But we would have loved to have you! My parents would have loved to meet you!”

 

“Um,” Kel said, unsure of how she should be responding.

 

“Oh, of course, we should go in and change – Sabine is a stickler about time. And I suppose you’re wondering about holiday practice times?”

 

“Yes, that would be good,” Kel latched on gratefully. “Do we have extra practice?”

 

Jessa grinned as she towed Kel into the change room. “Do we have extra practice, she asks. Do we ever?! Of course we have extra practice, Kel, Sabine went in like a pirate and divvied things up equally with the kendo team. We’re off on Midwinter and New Year’s Day because the Centre is closed, but otherwise, we’re alternating days with kendo – three hours every other weekday. And if you’re interested, I think the Royal University club managed to wrangle a couple extra practices too, but their gym closes early over the holidays, so I don’t know when they are.”

 

“It’s a bit up in the air, at the moment,” another girl replied, pulling her black hair up into a bun. Kel cast around for a name – Julia Shin, she fixed on finally. One of the more senior players with Royal University, Kel remembered. Likely to be quite strong in a few years if she stuck to it. “I think they’ll just text everyone practice times when they are set – are you in our practice group chat?”

 

“Yeah, I am, but can you add Kel? I don’t think she is.” Jessa replied, kicking her shoes off and pulling out her uniform from her bag. Kel set her own shoes neatly on the plastic mats meant for that purpose and picked out an empty locker to put her belongings inside, pulling out her own _furoshiki-_ wrapped uniform. The feeling was so familiar – here she was, in a change room, listening to her teammates talk while preparing for practice.

 

“Yeah, no problem,” Julia replied, apparently satisfied with her hair. She picked up her bogu and headed out. “Just remind me and I’ll do it after practice. It’s an engi day, too, just so you know.”

 

Jessa groaned, but rushed to pull on her uniform.

 

“Engi day?” Kel asked politely.

 

“It means we’re starting in bogu, we’ll do bogu basics, and then spend an hour and a half perfecting our engi,” Jessa replied, still rushing. “Sabine will want us in bogu before we bow in. I’m just slow to put on my bogu – still haven’t got the hang of getting my suneate on right…”

 

“Ah,” Kel replied, relieved. It would be good to get her bogu on in a naginata practice again, even if it were only for a short time. And it would also be good to work on some of the higher level engi forms too. Her own group had learned the first two forms, but she hadn’t worked through the other six since the summer.

 

Three hours later, Kel was merely resigned. After four months of training beginners, it was evident that her form in bogu had suffered. She was a little slower than she expected, a little later at picking out her openings than she ought to be. She was still fast, but her hasso strikes weren’t connecting as often as she would have liked, and Sabine had pushed them hard in the first thirty minutes. She was also becoming more aggressive, which was not necessarily a bad thing, but she was a little sloppier.  At least, in terms of the forms, she thought she had acquitted herself well.

 

“Good to have you back, Kel,” Sabine patted her on the shoulder, sitting next to her. “You’ve been playing kendo though – I can tell by that stomping you’ve been doing on some of your men strikes. Hope you’re not teaching that to your beginners.”

 

Kel sighed deeply. “At least there’s a lot of practice over the holidays?”

 

Sabine’s smile was shark-like. “You bet. Tomorrow, 4pm here – three hours. We’ll iron out all of your newfound bad habits.”

 

XXX

 

It was Midwinter’s Eve, and Daine had a _date_.

 

It wasn’t really a date, of course, she reminded herself stubbornly. It was pity. So she and Numair were going to have dinner in Blue Harbour. For Midwinter, because Daine didn’t have anywhere else to go, and because surely Master Numair just felt sorry for her. It was not, in any kind of way, a date.

 

Somehow, all of her internal ranting went exactly nowhere, because she was still sitting in the middle of her bedroom, her the contents of her mainly-Miri’s-but-not-insubstantial wardrobe cast all around her, frustrated to find that she had exactly _nothing_ to wear.

 

She was _not_ appearing in public in one of Miri’s many tea or formal dresses. They were good for school dances, and some of them, she thought, would only be good for meeting royalty. They weren’t suitable for dinner – _just dinner_ , she reminded herself sharply. Even if that dinner was on Midwinter’s Eve. But surely Master Numair wouldn’t want her to be wearing a school uniform?

 

 _It’s just dinner_ , she scolded herself sharply again, sitting herself down on her bed and looking at the disaster around her. How could it be that she had _so many clothes_ and yet still had nothing to wear? This was absolutely ridiculous. She sounded like one of her classmates, with more money than sense. She was not one of them, and surely, surely somewhere within this tornado of clothing, she would be able to find something that worked. She was Daine Sarasdottir – she was of Icelandic blood, despite her Tortallan citizenship, and her people survived for centuries on a barren bit of land in the Atlantic. Surely she had inherited some of the resourcefulness of her people?

 

Of course she had, and she would not be like her classmates who sat in a mess of clothing and wail that they had nothing to wear. She took a deep breath. She had exactly twenty minutes to get dressed and meet Numair downstairs in the front common room. She could absolutely find something to wear in this disaster in the next twenty minutes, and with time to spare.

 

She stood in the middle of the mess and took another calming breath, prepared to work this out.

 

Numair invited her out because he felt sorry for her, the lone student left at boarding school over the holidays. He would not be making reservations at any place that would be either outrageously expensive, or outrageously fancy. She put away Miri’s most formal frocks.

 

In fact, given how scatterbrained Numair was, she doubted he had made any reservations at all. It probably simply didn’t occur to him to do so. So they would probably go into the city, park near a selection of restaurants, and walk a bit. So she better be ready for the weather, too.

 

She put away the rest of Miri’s dresses, because she didn’t fancy the cold wind on her legs, but her eye was caught on a pair of Miri’s worn dark-washed jeans and her own combat boots which she brought with her to Crown. Yes, those would work.

 

In terms of the tops – well, just in case he did take her somewhere more upscale than she would be comfortable with (which, to be fair, was probably anything that was not a chain), she should aim for something a little dressier on top. Miri had a couple button-downs – one of those would do. And a sweater to layer on top – she had that worn black cardigan, that would work.

 

She looked at herself in the mirror, satisfied with her choices – she was comfortable, and not overly dressed up. After a moment’s thought, she left her curls loose and left off on any makeup. It was _just dinner_.

 

She was on time to the front common room, but Numair was nowhere to be seen, which, to be fair, she had expected. She was just about to settle onto one of the round, blue chairs to wait, when he burst into the common room.

 

“Sorry,” he smiled when he saw her, and Daine noted, as she had a million times previous, the little dimple in his right cheek as he did so. “I thought I was late.”

 

“Not at all,” she replied, keeping her voice as breezy as possible. He needed to stop smiling at her.

 

He laughed. “Don’t excuse it, Daine – I can see very well from the clock behind you that I am, actually, late.”

 

Daine felt her ears flush, and was again glad she had left her hair down. “Just bein’ polite,” she muttered, looking down. Ugh, and there was that northern accent again. She knew how to speak properly now, really she did.

 

“Shall we go?”

 

Daine nodded, relieved, and followed him to his little burnt orange runaround.

 

So she had a crush on her teacher. It was so painfully dramatic, and she had no idea how this had come about. Maybe it was something between his pity for her, his willingness to teach her and mentor her, his kindness to an orphan foster kid when no one else paid attention. Maybe it was the not so heroic rescue from the disaster of her first year, when she was nearly expelled for poor grades. Maybe it was the summer rescue, when he had convinced the Dean and the required to authorities to let her stay at school over the summer instead of yet another foster family, under the pretext of catching up with her classmates – though, to be fair, it was not much of a pretext, given the amount of studying he actually did have her do over the summer, including the aforementioned correction of her accent. Maybe it was that he, too, had secrets – he was a foreign academic, certainly, brilliant but teaching at a secondary school. Maybe it was that sometimes, she thought he just might understand her past. Or maybe it was just that he was inordinately handsome, for the eight-odd years he was her senior – in all the cheesiest ways, he was tall, dark and handsome, with the most expressive eyes.

 

She wasn’t sure. The only thing she knew was that she was in love with him, and it was a secret she would take to her grave, because she refused to be a character in a badly written television drama.

 

So she made small talk with him on the way to Blue Harbour. She had no idea what she talked about it – something about school, her papers, her thoughts on the archery team this year. And while she did it, if she treasured every smile, every laugh, every inadvertent touch, well, that was just silly, but she did it just the same.

 

XXX

 

Alanna spent most of her holiday at the Trebond fencing salle with the Smythessons. What could she say? They had their winter training camp over the holidays, and the fencing salle was a good sight better than kicking around the nearly empty Trebond estate. Thom was at home, of course, but it was Thom – he tended to seal himself in the library for days at a time, or in his rooms with his laptop. He was not, even at the best of times, and with even as his beloved twin sister, particularly social.

 

So instead, Alanna had spent most of the holiday thus far with her fencing family at the Trebond Fencing Club. The Smythessons were there, and it was warmer than any part of the Trebond estate.  She trained at length with Linn, the youngest Smythesson and only sabreur, and she fully expected Linn would be taking her spot as sabre captain after her graduation in two years. Daran and Rose and Elenna, too, were all there, bouting and teasing each other and occasionally engaging in shoving matches.

 

She would have happily traded the admittedly excellent chef-created, four-course Midwinter dinner she had that night for the warmth and endless teasing of the Smythessons.

 

The Trebond formal dining hall was large – much larger than it needed to be, particularly as there were only three people there to eat. And in terms of the people, as anti-social as Thom might be, he was still a damn sight better than Alan Trebond, her illustrious father, corporate lord and chauvinist extraordinaire.

 

“Thom, how is school?”

 

“Excellent, Father.”

 

“You are in all the business courses, correct?”

 

“Of course, Father.”

 

“And your fencing?”

 

“It’s fine, Father.”

 

Alanna always admired Thom’s ability to lie through his teeth. She certainly didn’t have it. Instead, she kept her mouth shut and ate, and hoped Thom would manage his father. The fortunate thing about having a complete and utter chauvinist for a father was that he largely ignored her. Hopefully, in this case.

 

“How are your grades, Thom?”

 

“Very good, Father. I’m currently ranked highest among the fourth-years, and I expect that to continue.”

 

That, well, that wasn’t a lie. Alanna expected he actually was holding first in their year, but once you were in the top twenty percent, did it really matter anymore? She was sitting there, too, but she wasn’t about to volunteer that information. Leave it to Thom to wax on at length to distract Father – he was good at it.

 

Not, apparently, good enough to hold them through dessert.

 

“Alanna.”

 

“Father,” Alanna replied simply.

 

“You are still seeing the de Conte boy, are you not?”

 

She hesitated, just long enough for Thom to shoot her an alarmed look and for her to realize her error. She should have replied immediately, but damn it, she was absolute shit at lying. The moment of silence would have told him everything he needed to know anyway, so she was just honest about it. “No, Father.”

 

He frowned. If there was anything Alan Trebond knew how to do, it was frown. His frowns were weighty, suffocating, and she had no doubt that he had wrung concessions out of business opponents just by the power of his frown.

 

Too bad Alanna was used to getting that stare. She continued to eat her dessert, nonplussed.

 

“That is … disappointing,” Alan said finally, setting his dessert spoon down. Alanna kept her own eyes on her tiramisu. It was excellent – Chef Anderson outdone herself, and she made a note to tell her so later. The silence was heavy, broken only by the soft chinks in the china as she and Thom spooned their desserts.

 

“Are you seeing anyone else?”

 

“She is not, Father,” Thom broke in easily, lazily. Alanna let him have it – he was a million times better a liar, putting on the perfect patronizing cadence that said that he was speaking for her because he knew Alanna would be embarrassed, and not because he knew he was the better liar and was going to stop Alanna from mucking it up. “I’m sure Alanna doesn’t want to talk about it – and certainly you don’t want to hear about it, it’s just a breakup story, after all.”

 

Alan sighed, though no understanding reached his eyes. “You’re right, I don’t have time to listen to idiotic teenage heartbreak. Just like neither you nor Alanna should be dwelling on it. I won’t attempt to countenance the reasons for the breakup, which I’m sure were petty in any case, but given the circumstances, I think it appropriate, Alanna, that you meet some potential, very eligible suitors. You are getting to the appropriate age for an arrangement.”

 

She was _sixteen_. Alanna fought the urge to vomit, and Thom kicked her gently under the table. _Just go with it_ , he was telling her. _We’ll figure it out later._

 

She looked up, plastered a weak smile on her face, and said, “Of course, Father.”

 

It was hours later when she was pacing Thom’s room, in a righteous fury.

 

“What the fuck, Thom? What the ever-loving fuck was that?”

 

Thom, seated comfortable in an armchair with his legs propped up, shrugged. “That was Father. Being Father.”

 

“I’m _sixteen_ , Thom. No one fucking gets into an _arrangement_ at sixteen.” She turned sharply at one end of the room, grabbed a cushion from one of Thom’s bed, and threw it viciously across the room. Thom watched it sail by to hit a tapestry-covered wall.

 

“Father is old-fashioned,” he commented dryly. “Perhaps a little out of touch with the times.”

 

“A little?!” Alanna picked up another cushion and whipped it across the room. “He’s a chauvinistic _pig_ , Thom. This is the twenty-first century, and fucking _hell_ am I getting into an _arrangement!_ ”

 

Thom watched as a third pillow sailed by him. Even in her rage, Alanna was careful not to be tossing anything valuable or potentially dangerous – she had done the same for Thom enough times to know that he would tend to leave her more precious possessions alone if she did the same for him.  Though, throwing china or other figurines would have been endlessly more satisfying.

 

“Look, little sister,” Thom said finally. “We’re underage. There’s only so much we can do right now. And it’s the twenty-first century – whoever wants to be part of this _arrangement_ isn’t going to do it without meeting you. It’ll take time. Stall him, and I’ll work some magic on the Board and think about it more. And there’s always the public – if we get the media involved, _Star Tortallan National Team Fencer being forced into arranged marriage_ , et cetera, I’m sure we can tank our share price and get the public opinion on your side. It would just also tank our share prices and cause other complications on the Board. We’ll get through this.”

 

Alanna glared at him, but then, there was no one quite like Thom Trebond, and she would generally prefer to have him on her side than otherwise. She just bet, too, that there would be something in it for him – perhaps a vote of non-confidence on the Board and an early hostile takeover of the company. She wouldn’t put it past him.

 

But she still had energy she needed to work off, and she let fly another cushion across the room.

 

XXX

 

It had taken most of her holiday to do it, but Aly hit paydirt on the Genlith servers late at night on New Year’s Day.

 

She knew she would, eventually. Everyone had secrets, and it was just a matter of time before she found it and used it. That was the basic philosophy for her business, too. It was too bad the insider trading tip hadn’t gotten anywhere – not that the Genlith trading house wasn’t committing insider trading, only that they had never been successfully shown to have cooked their books, and while Aly was sure she had gotten more access to their finances than any investigator had previously, she didn’t have a good enough grasp of high finance and forensic accounting to understand whether anything untoward had occurred. She made a note to fix that later – a few business courses couldn’t go amiss, anyway. And her parents would never complain if she went and got a degree in accounting.

 

It was a solid, stable career, accounting. Plenty of opportunities for advancement, particularly at a major accounting house. It wasn’t where Aly saw herself, but it was a good cover for her real business, anyway.

 

Aly had abandoned the insider trading route only three days into it, turning to study instead the personnel lists. She needed someone that was close to senior management, someone likely to know things, but someone who hadn’t drawn attention to themselves. She found one, with three or four days work – Alberto DiSalvio, executive assistant to Ebroin Genlith, trained Advocate and internal legal advisor to the Genlith trading house. And a careful, delicate snooping of his files located a number of very _interesting_  memoranda regarding several, very quiet sexual harassment settlements. 

 

Where there were settlements, though, there were also court claims, and Aly found those, too. Four complainants, currently, but most of their cases were stalled in endless motions. She recognized the tactic – they were bleeding the complainants dry enough to settle quietly. Welcome to litigation, Aly thought wryly. The justice system was slow, weighty, and deliberate, for all that they had far more extensive powers than she did.

 

She blinked, looking over one of the complainants again. A Bazhir, and there was something very familiar about her – something in her jawline. She frowned, and opened another search page, googling the woman specifically. It was two seconds work to discover that she was cousin to a certain Zahir ibn Alhaz.

 

She’d been played. Aly sat back in her chair, pursing her lips. On one hand, she could refuse to play into Zahir’s hands and just refuse to do anything about it. On the other, she had her own revenge to take, and while sexual harassment exposes weren’t as nice as insider trading exposes, well, it was something. It would still tank their share prices, which was good enough for the moment. And, she supposed, there was some merit to releasing this information to the public for the kind of justice that only the public could dispense, in the court of public opinion.

 

She didn’t love it. Really, she hated it, and she would take it out of Zahir later.

 

She copied the relevant files and sent them to Wikileaks. Then, it was a matter of half an hour’s snooping before she found Zahir’s personal cell phone number.

 

_I ought to charge you for this._

Four minutes later, her phone chimed.

 

_Ah, but you won’t. And even if you did, I wouldn’t pay it._

Goddamn him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long delay, I know. Unfortunately, this is probably the last chapter for a bit, mainly because I have no idea where I am going with it all! Not to say that this is the last chapter - just that the next chapters are needing a little inspiration, that's all. As always, love reading your comments!


End file.
